


Autumn In Chicago

by kapakoscheisigma



Series: Seasons of the Consortium's games. [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who: Virgin Missing Adventures, Doctor Who: Virgin New Adventures - Various Authors, The X-Files, due South
Genre: Ace is sinister at times, Angst, Angst and Humor, Dark Humor, Multi, Ray is surprisingly clever, crackfic!(beginning), darkfic(ending), five and turlough argue a lot, not the original author, trigger warning - rape as control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:24:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kapakoscheisigma/pseuds/kapakoscheisigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel or sequel to Summer in San Franscisco, depening on your temporal perspective. The Doctor lands in Chicago by mistake, only to blunder into all sorts of conspiracies while rescuing Turlough from gang land thugs, a Chicago detective and a member of the Canadian RMCP and finds himself manipulated by his older self.</p><p>Meanwhile, the Doctor and Ace play a dangerous game of double and triple bluff as they try to track down and destroy Time Lord DNA that has somehow found its way to the Consortium's experiments. </p><p>Professor Bernice Summerfied, meantime, is just fed up with being kept in the dark and takes a little holiday with her new friend, Tegan Jovanka...</p><p>NOW COMPLETE. All previous chapters now added to, edited and betaed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and chapter one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asparagusmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/gifts).



> I don't own the rights to any of these awesome TV shows and books and characters, I'm merely playing. I didn't make up the original series of these crossovers either, I am merely prosing and finishing some unfinished scripts with permission kindly given to my keeping in 2000 by a very dear friend. The Counsellor too, I must point out, is copyrighted, and is used with permission of her creator and avatar.

A woman, wearing a full-length orange velvet skirt with black silk shirt, red cravat, a waistcoat and jacket, is walking in the rain with a man's black umbrella. She is in the Botanical Garden, Oxford, England. The rain is torrential, and it's very windy. The woman folds up the umbrella and deposits it near a rubbish bin, muttering the words, "Useless thing." She leans forward and picks a white rose, then adds it to the bunch of roses of various colours in her right hand. She looks down at the fold of flesh between her thumb and forefinger, which is bleeding slightly, and frowns. Then she straightens slightly. She can feel the muzzle of a gun in the small of her back. Brightly, as if unafraid, she begins.

“Hello. I'm the Counsellor. I'm glad we've met at last.”

She can hear the sound of a safety clicking off, and desperate to hide her fear, continues,

“Was there anything in particular you wanted, or do you go around doing this sort of thing for fun?”

She discreetly tries to look behind her and sees a pasty white man with dirty blond hair, wearing a dark suit and shades, has come up to stand beside her. He opens his jacket, revealing a discreet handgun. She cannot see the owner of the first handgun, the one pressed in the small of her back. She continues her vain prattle, an attempt to hide her increasing alarm,

“Yes, yes, very impressive. Does either of you have a voice?”

The first person, the one with the gun in her back, speaks, “This way.” He is male, English, with a very deep voice, but with a mild Jamaican undertone to his Estuary accent. She cranes her neck to get a look at him. He's wearing, as she had almost expected, a dark suit and Raybands. The face underneath the Raybands is West Indian black and unsmiling. She grins at him and then she turns round slightly.

“Really? Are you sure? It could be that way,” she says, breathlessly, pointing to her left, “or that way,” she continues, pointing in the opposite direction, “or even that way,” she concludes, even more breathlessly, pointing directly in front of herself, “for that matter...”

The second man, the pale skinned one, hits her across the left collarbone and she collapses, unconscious, into the darker man’s arms. Roses go everywhere.

* * *

The TARDIS materializes in the middle of a busy shopping mall. In the console room, Tegan is leaning against the wall near the hatstand, Turlough is standing near the console and the Doctor is looking at one of the screens on the console, frowning and rubbing his forehead.

“Where are we, Doctor?” Tegan demands.

“What?” the Doctor replies, slightly distracted by the console. He grabs the back of his neck.

“I said, where are we?” Tegan demands again, annoyed.

“Mm? Oh. Earth.”

Turlough sighs deeply and says pointedly, “Really. What a surprise.”

Tegan glares at him before ignoring him and asks, “Where on Earth?”

“I really don't know, Tegan!” the Doctor snaps, a little testily. He looks at the time/space monitor. “Ah. Oh dear.”

Tegan folds her arms. Turlough cranes his neck to try and get a look at the monitor. The Doctor is working at some controls.

Seeing where and when they are, Turlough adds, “Ah.”

“What!” demands Tegan, growing angrier by the second, “Where are we?”

The Doctor ignores her. Turlough sighs and looks at her. He explains, as if speaking to a small, rather backward, child, “The United States of America. Chicago. Local dateline, September 1996.”

Tegan’s mood instantly lifts and she exclaims, enchanted, “The future! That's great! I've always wanted to see America!” She grabs her coat and moves over to the door control.

The Doctor asks her absently as he still stares at the console, puzzled, “Didn't you get to see America as an air hostess, Tegan?”

Tegan spits out cattily, “I didn't ever get to be an air hostess, remember?”

“Oh yes,” the Doctor replies vaguely. Turlough grins spitefully at her over the top of the Doctor’s bent head.

Tegan reaches over and pulls the door handle. The Doctor notices her suddenly and fairly leaps across the console to grab her arm as she starts towards the door.

“What!” she yells.

The Doctor answers, slightly breathlessly, “It's just that - America's cities can be quite dangerous, especially around this time period. I wouldn't want either of you to be put in unnecessary peril, now would I?” He gives Turlough a meaningful look. Turlough raises his eyebrows and glares.

Tegan smiles, “Doctor, I'm perfectly capable of looking after my - Doctor! Let go!”

“Stay in the TARDIS. You'll be safer here.”

“NO!” She breaks free of the Doctor's grasp. “You have no right to act like such a chauvinist!”

“Tegan –”

“Shut up and listen! I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself! I grew up in Brisbane, do you remember that! How different can American cities be!” 

The Doctor reaches for the door lever.

“Don't even think about it. I'm going out to explore.” She stomps out. 

The Doctor sighs. Turlough looks at him. “Well then,” he says to him, still slightly breathless.

“She's right, you know,” Turlough says, smirking.

“What?”

Turlough smiles and raises one eyebrow, “You don't have any right to be chauvinistic.”

The Doctor returns the smile, “No. No, I suppose I don't, do I?” He walks to the door. Turlough doesn't make any move to follow. “Come on, then. Let's see what's out there.”


	2. Chapter 2

Meanwhile, in downtown Chicago, a few miles from the TARDIS, Detective Ray Vecchio and Constable Benton Fraser were walking into the police station, followed by Fraser's wolf, Diefenbaker.

“Are you kidding me!”

“Well actually Ray, that kind of practise is quite common among Inuit tribes, especially during the wintertime. After all, it's only practical during times of hardship to –” He stopped suddenly.

“What, you mean people in Canada actually –?” He has stopped as well, following Fraser's gaze with a frown. “What're you looking at?”

“Do you recognize those two people?”

“What two people?”

“In Lt Welsh's office. A man and a woman.”

“Talking to Welsh?”

“It would appear so, Ray.”

Vecchio looked at Fraser and sighed, then he peered into Welsh's office. There were indeed a man and a woman, both suited, both of whom were talking intently to a gesticulating Welsh.

Welsh was being very loud and could be heard from his office, “This is the last thing I need!” He opened his office door and called across to Vecchio. “Vecchio. In here. Now. And bring the Mountie with you.”

Vecchio and Fraser exchanged a glance before walking into Welsh's office. Dief followed them, but was shut out and left pawing at the door.

“Vecchio, Fraser, these are Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI. They're here investigating –” 

But Vecchio interrupted his boss with a happy exclaim, “Dana! Dana Scully! It is you, isn't it?”

Welsh glared at his detective, and then the agents, and sighed. With a muttered, “Well, I’ve leave you to it,” he left them to it, closing the door behind him quickly to shut out the wolf. Everyone ignored him.

Scully looked up at Vecchio from the photo she was holding. She stood up, her eyes widening with amazement, and held a hand.

“Ray! What are you doing here?” 

Smiling happily, Vecchio took the proffered hand, “I might ask the same of you! I'm a cop - I work here. I thought you were going to be a doctor?” He pulled her into a tight hug, then looked at her, holding both of her hands in his. 

“I was. I kind of changed my mind.”

“Jeez! I bet your Dad's pleased about that!”

Scully looked down briefly, before answering softly, “My father died two years ago, Ray.”

Vecchio dropped her hands and looked at her. “Jesus, I'm sorry, Dana.”

“It's okay.” She looked at the floor again, then at a floundering Mulder. “This is my partner, Mulder. Mulder, Ray Vecchio. He's, uh... an old friend.”

Mulder raised his eyebrows at her questioningly while he shook Vecchio's hand.

* * *

In the meantime, in Benton Fraser's neighbourhood, a couple of lost aliens were indeed very lost, attracting unwanted attention. The Doctor was wandering around, looking slightly bewildered, his fists rammed in pockets. Turlough was following him, quite, quite irate, making it quite obvious that he was In A Mood. Every time the Doctor looked at them he gave a theatrical little exasperated sigh. Then he pointedly looked around him at the incredibly poor area they had wandered into and sighed again. Turlough clapped his hands, then rubbed them together before exclaiming with a false brightness, “Well, we've landed ourselves in a lovely little area here, haven't we? Drug addicts on the pavement, homeless sleeping in doorways, excreta in the...”

“Turlough!”

“Well Tegan's hardly likely to be here, is she? I know she doesn't dress like it, but she does have some taste! And this isn't exactly a promising location for the Chicago Hilton, is it?”

“Hm.”

“Doctor?”

“What?”

“What are you hmm-ing about?”

The Doctor answered Turlough distractedly, looking straight ahead, ominously, “Over there.”

* * 

In Welsh’s office, Vecchio was now sitting on the back of his chair while he watched Mulder and Scully who were seated opposite his desk, trying to explain their investigation to him and Fraser. He looked as if he was about to burst out laughing. Fraser, of course, was concentrating intently. Vecchio couldn’t help let out, incredulously, after fighting to stay silent for quite some moments, “So that's it? You're here to observe - now let me get this right - a possible alien who may be calling himself the Doctor and might have the ability to change his physical appearance? Now come on, Dana, you know as well as me how crazy that sounds!”

“I know it seems hard to believe, Detective,” Mulder said with the kind of intensity that Vecchio associated with Evangelical TV ministers and Hari Krishna people downtown, “but we need your co-operation. Besides, we have evidence. A photograph. Scully?”

She produced a foolscap photograph. “This was taken by a man called Andrew Laninski in October 1981.” She pointed to a blue rectangular shack on the left side of the picture. “We believe this to be the Doctor's craft. And presumably one of these people is the Doctor.”

Vecchio took the photograph and glanced at it. “I can't believe you're actually telling me this, Dana. You. You were always the kid that didn't believe in ghosts. Remember Craig McIntee?” She nodded. “And now - aliens? I just can't buy it.”

He stared at the photograph. It depicted three people. In the foreground, furthest from the ‘craft’, was an incredibly tall blond young man with his back to the camera. He was supporting an older-looking, tiny, dark-haired man. The second man looked extremely tired and fragile leaning against the younger man's torso. Further from the camera, leaning against the craft and scowling - but still not looking at the camera or the two men - was a black woman, small and world-weary, looking to be in her mid-fifties. Vecchio passed the photo to Fraser and swallowed. Then he looked up at Dana and, putting a heavy bite into his voice, said, “So this Doctor's either Arnold Swarzchenegger, Danny DeVito or Whoopi Goldberg?”

Scully gave him a withering look.

Fraser looked from the photo to Mulder and Scully. “Excuse my disputing you, Agent Scully, but I fail to see how these people might pose a threat. What crime did you say they committed?”

Mulder answered quickly before Scully could say ‘I don't know’, “In 1981 the Doctor was aided by these two other aliens to escape from a Government holding facility in Kansas. They were never apprehended. We assume they left in the craft you see pictured.”

“Yeah, but why were they being held?” demanded Vecchio.

“At this point that information isn't available,” Mulder answered cryptically.

“Shouldn't it be a matter of public record?” Vecchio demanded, unwittingly hitting Mulder’s Achilles heel.

Mulder, looking rather embarrassed, made a vague gesture. Fraser handed the photo back to Scully. She filed it away.

“So you'd like us to assist you in your apprehension of these villains despite not knowing exactly what it is they've done? Are you quite sure they've broken federal law?” summarized Fraser.

“No,” said Scully..

“Yes,” said Mulder at the same time. Scully glared at him. He went on, ignoring her, “They're illegal aliens. Literally. We'd at least like to establish their reasons for visiting Earth. And if those are valid we'll provide them with appropriate documentation.”

Vecchio was stunned, “What, you expect them to apply for a visa?” he laughed, incredulously.

Scully focused all her attention on the floor, and tried extremely hard not to laugh. She remembered how she had loved Ray’s humour when they were kids. After she had calmed down a bit she told her partner, “Mulder, I don't often say this nowadays, but are you crazy? I mean –”

Mulder looked at his partner and said, softly, in fact, in his best, I'm-going-to-seduce-you-into-forgetting-what-you-were-saying voice, “Mean what, Scully?”

Fraser tried to get the meeting back on track as best as he could. “It seems as if you want our help in tracking down this ‘Doctor’ and his companions, but you don't have much idea where to start. For instance, do you know which one of these people is actually the Doctor?”

“I'd go for the little guy,” said Mulder.

“My money's on the blond,” added Scully.

“I'm banking on Whoopi” contributed Vecchio.

“Well,” said Fraser, “that settles that then. And if the last sighting of him was in 1981 –”

“He... has been seen since then. Kind of. We think” Scully floundered.

“In different bodies,” Mulder added.

“Well, great, that helps!”

“Indeed, Ray. It would appear that we have very little to go on. In fact, we have several descriptions of him, a photograph which may be misleading, a great deal of hearsay and some very unreliable intelligence. You say that he is an alien, yet he has an English accent and often travels with humans - particularly young women. You say he has a reputation for intervening for the good of Earth, yet you think of him as a dangerous criminal. You say he travels through space and possibly through time, and yet his craft is to all outward appearances a telephone box from Britain during the 1950s. We may in fact be tracing a man who is not in the country at all, or indeed - if you are to be believed, Agent Mulder - on this planet. Is there anything more you can give us?”

“His craft was sighted. In Washington, two days ago, and again in Chicago earlier today. That's part of the reason we're here,” Mulder explained.

“What's the rest of the reason?” Vecchio was growing more suspicious by the second.

* *

In another place entirely, but the location of the place, of course in any event, must remain a secret, the Fat Man, the Cigarette Smoking Man and the Well-Manicured Man (in reality Commodore John Gilmore) were sitting in a plush office, perhaps belonging to the Consortium, perhaps in New York but then, equally possibly, in a disused Cold War bunker in Kansas, discussing something. Unnoticed and unbeknown to them, they were being watched by the office's receptionist, an Italian man with a goatee.

“Well? Has he arrived?”

“Indeed he has. We have put him on a plane to Chicago, as you requested. He has a woman with him.”

“Interesting. Will he comply with the demands?”

“We expect so. And if he does not - well, we have ways of - persuading him.”

“Good. See that he does.”

The Fat Man left after delivering his vinaigrette and threats, gesturing for the ‘receptionist’ to follow. Gilmore turned to the Cigarette Smoking Man, who was, of course, lighting a cigarette.

“We need to keep your organizations out of this matter. See to it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don't bugger it up this time. You're being monitored - remember that.”

“Sir.”

Gilmore sailed out in what could be described as a military flounce. The Cigarette Smoking Man went to the phone.

* * *

In his office in Washington, Skinner answered the phone, 

“ Yes? 

“Yes, sir. 

“Sir.

“Certainly,” he concluded bitterly.

He hung up. Then he looked across the table at a woman dressed in a long black coat and mirror shades sitting on the other side of his desk. “I have a proposition for you. One that may be to our mutual interest.”

* * *

Later Vecchio and Fraser arrived home at Fraser's apartment in Vecchio’s beloved Riv. They got out. Dief ran into the building. As Fraser moved to follow a man called out to him,

“Hey Fraser, didn't know ya had a brother!”

“I – ” he began but Vecchio pulled him into the building after Dief. They then met a woman with a pushchair on the stairs. She was struggling with the kid, buggy and shopping. “Allow me to help you, Suzy.”

She smiled at him and let him help her down the stairs, foisting her three-year-old child on Vecchio to make the chair easier to carry. Vecchio objected non-verbally but yet loudly all the same. At the bottom of the stairs Suzy stopped.

“Hey - I just remembered! Your brother helped me get up. Why didn't you say he was coming down?”

“My brother?” Fraser was beginning to grow a little confused, a disconcerting and infrequent unfamiliar feeling for him.

“Yeah. Tall blond guy. British accent I think - but hey, life is weird, huh? You grew up apart?”

“I didn't know you had a brother, Frasier.”

“I don't.”

“Wait a minute - you said a British accent? Tall and blond? What was he doing here?”

“I don't know, but he had some kid with him, and he was being nice to everyone on the street. Oh, and hey - you know Josie? The addict who lives across the street? She just had a baby?”

“Yes.”

“He was real nice to her. I mean real nice. That kid was a real bitch - 'scuse my language - to her. I guess he's used to attention. I think he followed her when she went down to score?”

“Which way'd she go?”

Suzy pointed helpfully.

“Frasier, don't move a muscle. I'm going after him.”

“You think this may be –”

“Yeah.”

“Well then I'm coming with you, Ray.”

“No - okay, just no. It's not safe, and I'm not trying to undermine you as a cop or anything, but you just don't know the neighbourhood. Okay?”

“But I –”

“I'll see you later. Okay?”

He then ran off before Fraser could reply.

 

* * *

In the TARDIS Tegan had returned and was wandering idly about the console room, having got bored of shopping after three hours and wandered back, when the Doctor came in through the exterior door.

“Where's Turlough?”

“I don't know. I thought he was with you.”

“No, I sent him back to the – ” he paused, worried, “Nearly two hours ago.” 

He pushed through the interior door. Tegan ran after him.

“Turlough? Turlough!”

“He hasn't been back here!”

* * *

At roughly the same time as the Doctor was frantically searching, in a Chicago alley Vecchio and Fraser found Turlough unconscious and bleeding on the ground. Fraser picked him up.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking him to hospital, Ray. He's hurt.”

“But he could be a junkie or something! Or dangerous!”

“Not in this condition.” Just then blood fell on his hand. He frowned, sniffed it and shrugged.

“God, you're sniffing blood?”

* *

However, the Doctor and Tegan were still running through corridors in the TARDIS.

“Turlough! Turlough!”

He was pushing doors open as he moved through the TARDIS. Tegan closed them behind him. He turned to Tegan. She stopped behind him, panting.

“Where is he?”

“I keep telling you, he hasn't been back.”

“But he must have been!”

Panicked, the Doctor pushed past her and ran into the console room.

“What? What?” Tegan shouted, the Doctor was making her more confused by the minute.

They finally return to the console room. Tegan stopped, panting, her heart pounding. The Doctor opened the doors.

“I'll tell you later.”

He ran out of the TARDIS, leaving her yet more confused.


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of Turlough’s terrified psychic screaming ringing in his mind, blocking out the until now loud mental call from another that had brought him, confusingly, to America, the Doctor ran down the hospital corridor, pushing people aside until he managed to find the right side ward where Turlough was. Roughly, desperately, he pushed aside doctors and nurses and started cardio-vascular massage. After a few seconds, Turlough's eyes fluttered open, and the Doctor sighed with relief. 

People who had been trying to treat Turlough, and others who had come to see all the fuss stared in silence for a few moments before there was general applause. The Doctor managed to look bashful before spreading his hands and rolling his eyes, embarrassed and annoyed. He faked a smile. He asked the nearest doctor, a big blonde woman, Dr Klaus it said on her ID badge, what happened? Vecchio pushed through the crowd, wanting to take over. There was something suspicious about this guy.

“We found him in a back alley.”

The blonde doctor, Klaus, spoke to the crowds in and around the side ward, “Can we clear this room now, people?”

The onlookers and extraneous medical staff filtered out, leaving in the side ward Dr Klaus, the Doctor, Vecchio and Fraser. Dr Klaus looked at Turlough curiously and a little concerned, “We don't know if he's going to pull through. He's lost a lot of blood and - uh - one of his hearts –” 

“I'm aware of that,” snapped the Doctor. “All this fuss could have been prevented, you know. What did you do to him, hm? Surely it's not usual practise to provide transfusions without checking the blood type first?”

“Well, of course not. We –”

“Then how did you miss the fact that his blood wasn't even human? What were you thinking?”

“Now wait a minute –”

Ever the peacemaker, Constable Benton Fraser tried to butt in, “Please calm down, Dr Klaus. I'm sure this can be resolved without tempers getting frayed.”

The Doctor span around to face Fraser, hands in his pockets, and glared. “And you are?” he demanded.

“Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP.” He offered his hand to the Doctor.

The Doctor shook Fraser's hand, but without his disarming, cheerful, I’m-a idiot usual beam. “I'm the Doctor, and this is –” He turned around with a gesture, expecting Turlough to be standing behind him, but he was, of course, in the bed. “- Turlough.”   
Turlough smiled faintly at Fraser and waved vaguely.

“How are you feeling, son?”

“I'm not your son. I have no desire to be any human's son,” Turlough spat out through his teeth.

“Turlough!” reproved the Doctor sternly.

At this moment Vecchio chose to step forward and stick out his hand, “I'm Ray Vecchio. Chicago PD.”

The Doctor scowled and thrust his fists into his trouser pockets. “Yes, I believe we have met.”

Vecchio mirrored the Doctor’s posture as he answered, “Sure we have.”

Dr Klaus's pager bleeped. She switched it off and checked it. “Excuse me,” she said before leaving.

Meanwhile the Doctor asked Turlough quietly, “How are you feeling now?”

“Thirsty.”

The Doctor turned back to Vecchio with a look.

Vecchio sighed, “All right. I'll go find some water.” He stomped out. The Doctor gave him an embarrassed smile and a thank you, pausing Vecchio by the door before he exited, slamming the door behind him.

“Thank goodness all the Americans have gone.”

“Doctor, excuse my being presumptuous, but I feel you might have been a little harsh on Dr Klaus. She was –” began Fraser.

“A mite confused? I do realise she's never encountered an extraterrestrial before, but really, she ought to have known better!”

Just then Vecchio came back in with a plastic cup of water, slamming the door as hard on the way in as he had on the way out. The Doctor jumped, startled by the force of anger more than the noise. Vecchio ignored him and marched over to Turlough, snapping ungraciously, “Here.”

He pushed the cup into Turlough's hands, a little violently. Water splashed everywhere. The Doctor stepped in, taking the water from Turlough and propping him up in the bed before handing it back. Turlough smiled and downed what water was left and then held out the cup to Vecchio.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He stomped back out of the room. The door was slammed again.

“Doctor,” Fraser began apologetically, “allow me to apologize for Detective Vecchio's uncouth behaviour. I'm afraid he is somewhat lacking in tact.”

The Doctor sat down on the bed next to Turlough, putting one arm around his shoulders and crossing his legs, smiling up at Fraser. “Oh, that's quite all right, Constable. We all have to make allowances for Americans, hm?”

“Doctor!”

Fraser fetched a chair and sat down at the foot of the bed to watch the following interchange between the two strange men with interest.

The Doctor was petulant. “Well they almost killed you!” He sighed and looked tenderly down at Turlough. “What did happen? Mm?”

“Four young Americans attacked me,” Turlough explained quite distinctly.

“Why?”

“How should I know! They were drunk... or high on something. I was on my way back to the TARDIS - as I was told - and they jumped on me. They hit me a few times, they kicked me a few times, they called me some unpleasant names, and then they went away again. Anything else you want to know?”

The Doctor answered after an irritated sigh and a short pause. “There's no need to be sarcastic.”

“Why? You weren't there. I thought I was going to die. Just once, Doctor, couldn't you manage to show up before the nick of time?”

“Really Turlough, there's no need for that. We're safe now, aren't we? That's the main thing.”

“Are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Safe!”

“Well yes of course!” The Doctor looked at Fraser. “Are we?”

“Well, considering the apparent opportunistic nature of the attack and the length of time since then, not to mention the statistical unlikelihood of a repeat occurrence and the extensive security measures taken in a public building such as a hospital...”

“Are we or aren't we?” the Doctor almost shouted with impatience, his voice skittering surprisingly high.

“I should say so.”

* *

Meanwhile, Mulder and Scully had not been idle since they left Welsh’s office. Standing with Scully, from a doorway, Mulder was watching a small man with a brown leather satchel who was wearing a brightly coloured sleeveless jersey and a hat, despite the heat. A slightly taller dark haired woman in a bright waistcoat accompanied him. They were wandering rather aimlessly around an otherwise empty gallery room. The woman stopped to stare at a Liechtenstein painting, seemingly transfixed. The man looked rather bored, glancing at his wristwatch and looking at the various paintings in the room without much interest, as if waiting. Beside Mulder, Scully was also looking less than fascinated. After some time, another man, dressed in a shirt and slacks, walked into the room, making eye contact with the first man, and then walked out again through another door. The little man followed him out, but not without a look of derision and wry amusement from the woman.

Mulder left a respectable interval and then hurried after them. The woman, her attention having been distracted from the painting, looked at Mulder, making eye contact and raising one eyebrow. He lowered his eyes and hurried out into a larger room almost filled with schoolchildren. Mulder almost despaired that he had lost them. Then he caught sight of the first man going into the Gents. He hurried across the room.

Back in the doorway, Scully's mobile phone rang. She too attracted the attention of the woman, who looked at her and then wandered out of the room. Scully answered the phone. It was her old childhood sweetheart, now Detective Ray Vecchio of Chicago PD and supposedly assisting the two FBI agents.

“Scully.”

“Dana?”

“Ray? That you?”

“Yeah. Listen, I thought I oughta let you know - the guys you're looking for are at St Mary's hospital.”

“Oh - right.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It's just that - I thought we were on the Doctor's tail right now.”

“What? How can you be? I just told you, the Doctor's here. He's at the hospital.”

“It doesn't matter. It's nothing. I, uh - I'll tell Mulder we've got the wrong guy.”

 

* * *

Vecchio was at a payphone in the hospital. He was frowning as he listened to Dana.

“Yeah. I guess you'd better. 

“You in the area? 

“Good. Jesus, Dana, there's weird things going on down here.

“Oh, right up your street. I'll tell you when you get here. 

“Do what? Why?”

“But we do know each other! 

“Oh, okay. I guess I'll see ya soon. Bye.”

He hung up and went to a nearby vending machine and started to feed money in, still frowning.

* * *

In a street outside the gallery. Mulder and Scully were walking towards their rental car. Mulder was in his usual full there's-definitely-a-Government-conspiracy mode, and mid-flow, not that Scully was really paying attention.

“So then the other guy - the, uh, the taller one - hands the little guy this envelope, and I didn't see what was in it but it looked like it could be documents or something. You know, like Defence Department files? Like the stuff the Thinker downloaded?”

“Mulder –”

“Listen, Scully, I know you don't buy this but hear me out, okay? I think the taller guy was working for Cancer Man and the Doctor's working for the British Government or something. You remember what Langly said? This Doctor guy used to work for some British organization, didn't he? Scientific advisor? You remember?”

“Mulder –”

“What were they called?”

“I don't remember. Mulder, we don't have the right guy.”

“Huh?”

“We don't have the right guy. The Doctor's two miles away, in the custody of Detective Ray Vecchio, in St Mary's hospital. Which is where we're going.” She held out her hand. Mulder despondently put the keys in it and made for the passenger door.

* * *

Vecchio came back in, this time carrying a tray with three vending-machine coffees, a jug of water and a glass. The Doctor took his coffee, sniffed it suspiciously and then put it back on the tray.

“No thank you. I'm a tea man myself.”

“Great, great! I can't believe I just fetched drinks for a couple of English alien faggots!”

“Ray. I hate to quibble, but I fail to understand how these two gentlemen –”

“Gentlemen!”

“- can be both English and alien. You see, the term 'English' presupposes that the person you are describing is from a particular area of this planet. However, the term 'alien' in the sense you use it clearly states that they are from another planet. You see?”

“You didn't object to 'faggot',” Vecchio grumbled under his breath.

The Doctor stood up suddenly, angry, “Well I do!”

“Actually, Ray, you didn't give me a chance.”

“I don't mind!” Turlough said cheerfully to no one in particular.

“You see!” Vecchio pointed triumphantly to Turlough.

The Doctor resumed his position sitting on the bed with one arm around Turlough, legs crossed. He beamed. Turlough slid closer to him and leant his head on the Doctor's shoulder.

Turlough raised one eyebrow, “I do, however, object to being referred to as English. Or human, for that matter.”

“Then explain why you're wearing an English public school uniform?” demanded Vecchio.

Turlough looked down at his naked chest, then up at Vecchio, and raised the other eyebrow. “I wasn't aware that I was,” he said smoothly.

Vecchio threw up his hands in frustration. “Well you were!” he paused, breathing out hard, annoyed, “So why?”

“That's a good question,” Turlough asked, looking up innocently at the Doctor. He then asked sweetly, “Why do you insist I keep wearing that hateful uniform, Doctor?”

The Doctor smiled, “Well, you do look rather sweet.”

“God! That's disgusting!” Vecchio let out.

“I hope you don't mind my asking, but how did you come by this uniform?” Fraser asked.

Turlough let out a deep sigh. “I had the misfortune of being sent from my home planet to an English public school. The worst place in the universe.”

“That's really disgusting,” Vecchio said.

The Doctor frowned at Vecchio.

“Yes, I know,” Turlough replied to Vecchio, looking right at him.

The Doctor turned his frown on Turlough, “You never said.”

“I didn't want to upset you.”

“That was very considerate of you.”

“I'm always considerate.”

“Yes... Except when you're trying to kill me.”

“Well, that wasn't exactly my idea, was it!”

“You tried anyway.”

“Did I?”

“You know you did! You tried to destroy my TARDIS!”

“TARDIS?” exclaimed both Vecchio and Fraser.

“And that would have killed you, would it?” asked Turlough over the top of the cop and the Mountie’s confused cries.

“Yes, not to mention everyone else on board.”

“Including me?”

“Well yes of course, Turlough! You were in the TARDIS too weren't you? What did you expect the Black Guardian to do, snatch you away before the whole thing exploded?”

Turlough was so confused, not to mention exhausted and in pain from the beating and the loss of blood he was now close to tears, “I don't know! That's what he said! Don't you understand, I'd have done anything if it meant I didn't have to go back to that school!”

The Doctor practically exploded with rage, “You stupid boy! What exactly do you think the Black Guardian is? He is pure Evil. He protects everything negative in the Universe. That is his function! He is not going to be concerned with a contract he made with one young, desperate, insignificant boy! Do you honestly think he would have been anything other than happy to see you die?”

Turlough gave into the feeling and burst into tears. The Doctor hardly ever shouted at him. “Shut up! Shut up!”

By now the Doctor was repressing teas himself, “No, you shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Will you both damn well shut up! I'm sick of listening to your goddamn bickering!” snapped Vecchio.

The Doctor turned his fury on Vecchio, “And I'm sick of this American semantic obsession with the concept of damnation! Hell does not exist! Not in the way you assume, anyway.”

“So what? Don't mess with a Catholic about hell, okay?”

The Doctor looked at his knees. He had been officially vanquished. “Please excuse me.”

“Okay,” Vecchio replied reluctantly. 

“Don't you think we ought to get back to the TARDIS, Doctor? I'm better now, and Tegan will be worried,” Turlough asked.

“Yes, Turlough. Perhaps you're right,” the Doctor replied.

“Who's Tegan? The family cat?” Vecchio asked.

The Doctor smiled, “In a manner of speaking.”

“No, she's our pet human!” Turlough added with a wicked laugh.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. The occupants of the room didn't have a chance to acknowledge it before Dr Klaus walked in with Mulder and Scully.

“Detective Vecchio?” Scully asked Ray coldly, as if she had never met him.

“Yeah, that's me,” he replied, shaking hands first with Scully, then Mulder.

“And you must be Constable Fraser?” said Scully, shaking his hand. Fraser was momentarily confused, but decided, with a glance at Vecchio, to play along. “I'm Agent Dana Scully, and this is Agent Fox Mulder. We're with the FBI.”

The Doctor stood, disentangling himself from Turlough, “Can I help you? I'm the Doctor and this is my friend Turlough.” He offered his hand to Scully, but she ignored him. Mulder nodded at him. He nodded back.

Scully turned to Dr. Klaus, pointing at Turlough, “Is this the boy?”

“Yes.”

The Doctor jammed his fists into his pockets before demanding, “What's going on? Hm?”

Scully looked up at the Doctor, a neutral calm look on her face, “As I've said, we're with the FBI. We've been called in to investigate –”

The Doctor stared back at Scully intently, “Investigate what, exactly?”

“Who did you say you were?” demanded Scully coldly.

“He saved the boy's life,” explained Klaus, “He came from nowhere.”

Scully looked to the Doctor enquiringly.

“Well, I wouldn't exactly describe the TARDIS as nowhere, but you've got the first part right. Now, what was it you said you were here to investigate?”


	4. Chapter 4

In the foyer of the gallery where Scully and Mulder had been previous to Vecchio’s call the woman from the gallery was watching the man whom she thought cruised her friend making a call on one of a rank of payphones. He was tall, with dark hair and a kind of cavernous face. She didn’t like him on sight, but liked him much less after she had eavesdropped.

“I've made contact, sir. 

“Yes, I gave him the package.”

The woman smirked to herself.

“Yes, sir.

“Two hours.”

The woman, raising one eyebrow, muttered to herself, “You flatter yourself. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

The man, smiling maliciously, continued on the phone, “Quite a pretty little queen, ain't he? 

“Sure, sure... just as you told me. 

“I'd like to be present at the contact in Washington, sir, if that's possible. 

“Thank you”. He hung up and left the gallery.

The woman worked extremely hard to repress laughter.

* * *

Meanwhile, almost overawed, Mulder whispered to Klaus, “Did you say the boy was an alien?”

“It would appear so. I wouldn't be surprised if the man was as well,” she whispered in reply. Just then her pager bleeped. She checked it. “I'm sorry. Excuse me, Agent Mulder.” She exited. Mulder's eyebrows were in his hairline.

* * *

Dr Klaus checked her pager again as she hurried out of the room and into the nurse's station. She frowned, and then dialled the number. She waited.

“It's Klaus. I was paged. 

“Yes, I'll – 

“Dr Dove? Sir, I – 

“DX? Yes, of course I've read the files. 

“No, sir. 

“CS, PS, HV. I've done harvesting,” she looked somewhat horrified before continuing, “Harvest a DX? Do you think that's – 

“Yes, sir. Of course.” She hung up. 

* * *

Scully was interrogating the Doctor as Vecchio butted in, “Hey, Dana!”

“What?”

Vecchio took her off to one side of the room. She glared at him. He lowered his voice. “I thought we were here for the Doctor. Huh? The boy's irrelevant, he's just some kid that got caught up in this.”

“He's an alien too - or so Dr Klaus tells us. Mulder got kind of side-tracked. I'm trying to turn it round, okay?” She paused and looked at the Doctor and Turlough. “So what does the boy have to do with this?”

“Oh, I guess he's the Doctor's lover. Look at 'em.” He nodded his head at the couple. Scully span round, hands on hips, with an accusatory look at Vecchio, then turned back to the Doctor looking annoyed.

“Is this true? Are you lovers?”

“Does it matter?” asked the Doctor.

“Yes!”

“Really? Are we under suspicion because of our sexuality or our species? If it's the former, I'm sure you're infringing some kind of discrimination law.”

Scully looked at the floor, cleared her throat, and looked at Turlough.

“Yes. If you're really desperate to know,” he said coldly.

Scully turned back to the Doctor, wide-eyed. Mulder stepped up behind her and leant very close. “Two... hearts.”

“Yes, Mulder, I do remember.”

“Isn't this all getting rather silly?” Fraser asked.

“Yes, isn't it?” the Doctor replied conversationally.

Fraser turned to Mulder and Scully, “Surely the sensible course of action in this situation would be to allow these two good people to be on their way? After all, they have committed no offence and I assume Turlough does not wish to press charges on his attackers, although I would strongly advise him to...”

Everyone human turned to look at Fraser in utter bemusement and horror.

“Frasier, shut up,” Vecchio advised his partner.

Fraser looked at the floor.

“Will you let us get back to the TARDIS? Please?” Turlough asked with a whine.

“What, naked? You don't want your clothes back first?” asked Vecchio incredulously.

“Ah... there may be a slight problem there, Ray. The clothes Turlough was wearing when we found him are rather, ah... stained,” Fraser pointed out.

“Blood soaked,” Turlough said with relish.

“Oh dear,” the Doctor said. He paused, thinking, and then said brightly, “Never mind! The TARDIS can clean all that up.”

Turlough gave the Doctor a meaningful look.

“True. We would need to get back to the TARDIS first.”

“Hold on a second!” yelled Mulder. “We haven't established what you're doing on Earth yet.”

“Is that really necessary?” the Doctor asked with a sigh.

“Yes.”

Turlough sighed.

“And why is that?” asked the Doctor.

“Being from another planet is no excuse for entering the US without a current visa!” Vecchio said, mocking Mulder, agreeing secretly that it was all getting a bit silly.

“Exactly!” Mulder seized the excuse.

“What?” demanded the Doctor, incredulous. “I have travelled the Universe and beyond, fought Daleks, Cybermen, even other Time Lords, whatever evil comes my way, but I have never, ever encountered a race so petty and pedantic as the American civil service!”

“What's a civil service?” asked Vecchio innocently.

“Ha! So you're a Time Lord!” Mulder yelled triumphantly before pausing and then asking, “What is that?”

The Doctor raised one finger, “Aha! You don't know, do you?”

“No one does,” Turlough said bitterly.

“That's not true, Turlough,” the Doctor pointed out.

Vecchio raised his hands, “I don't want to hear any more of your bickering! And you call us petty!”

“Yes I do,” the Doctor snapped distinctly.

“I haven't heard anything so petty since I last saw my sister!” Vecchio came back at him.

“I am not petty!” the Doctor yelled, the timbre of his voice raising. He pouted.

“Is that so?” Turlough asked archly.

“Enough already!” yelled Vecchio.

“I think Ray may have a point,” Fraser said.

“Should get some marriage guidance,” Vecchio muttered under his breath to Fraser.

“I suppose you are married?” Scully asked sarcastically.

Turlough laughed hysterically. The Doctor frowned at Scully, more than a little puzzled.

“I think everyone is missing the point here,” Mulder said loudly, on the verge of shouting again. “These - uh - people - are extraterrestrials. They're aliens.”

“Yes,” Scully replied bitchily, “but this is hardly what you expected, is it? Two homosexuals with British accents who do nothing but fight and pretend the American government is funny?”

“Who's pretending?” the Doctor muttered darkly.

“That's not the point! They may know something!” Mulder replied with a slightly childish whine.

“About what?” asked Vecchio, confused.

“The truth.”

“Which?” asked the Doctor.

Mulder looked confused.

“Yes,” the Doctor said gently.

“He means the truth about the alien civilisation,” Scully explained.

“My point exactly. Which alien civilisation? I suppose you could mean the Tzun, since there are plenty of twentieth-century United States’ myths which might have superficial connections to selected Tzun practises, but there's no real evidence to suggest...”

Mulder, confused and hungry for information, asked, “You mean there's more than one?”

“Well yes of course!” the Doctor by now was exasperated and also desperate to just get his young companion back to the TARDIS. “You humans are astounding! You finally reach the staggering conclusion that there is more than one sentient race in the universe only to authoritatively decide that there are two?!”

“Doctor!” Turlough called, worried. Scully had come to stand beside Turlough's bed and was about to attach electrodes to his chest. He turned to Scully, panicking, “What are you doing!”

Vecchio knew she was lying through her teeth as Scully replied, “Detective Vecchio asked us to come here because, among other things, he witnessed universal donor plasma clotting in your blood. Also, Dr Klaus believes you to have two hearts. I'd like to try to verify, and if possible explain, this hospital's so far limited findings.” He, however, wisely, with a glance to Fraser, kept silent on the matter as he had promised. But he was liking it less and less.

Turlough turned his worried look on the Doctor. Mulder came up behind Scully.

The Doctor turned on Scully, angry and protective of Turlough, “Dr Scully, if you intend to carry out any medical tests, I'd prefer it if it was me you tested! Turlough's had a lot to cope with in the last few hours. Can you actually appreciate the seriousness of his condition? It is, after all, how he came to your attention in the first place.” He sighed, then paused. “And will someone for goodness' sake get him something to drink other than water?”

“What?”

“Well, are you a doctor or aren't you?” the Doctor asked wearily. “Turlough has lost a lot of blood. And as you so accurately observed, he rejected human plasma. Now. I would suggest someone should get him a sugary drink, perhaps, to help his body replace the blood it's lost?” He looked to Vecchio.

“Yeah, I know, I'm going.” Vecchio stomped out, but shut the door quietly this time.

“And I would emphatically not suggest taking a blood sample at this stage,” the Doctor then said to Scully.

“I have no intention of taking a blood sample from Turlough. I'm perfectly well aware of Turlough's condition and I entirely agree. However, if you were offering a sample of your own blood...”

“I wasn't.” He looked down at Turlough, who was still very apprehensive, then back to Scully. “Oh very well then.” He rolled up one sleeve and defiantly offered his arm.) “Satisfied?”

Mulder reached out to touch the triangular brand on Turlough's arm “What's this?” Turlough angrily snatched his arm away. Mulder looked up at the Doctor.

“It's none of your business!” Turlough snapped.

Vecchio had returned with a plastic cup of hot chocolate. He noticed he'd walked into the middle of a scene and wisely kept his mouth shut. The Doctor was watching Scully, who had walked around the bed to a tray of medical supplies and was sorting through them for a suitable needle, with faint horror. Mulder was looking at the Doctor as if he expected salvation. Turlough was gathering sheets about his chest.

“It's none of my business, either,” the Doctor said gently to Mulder.

“But –”

“All I know is it has something to do with his mother's death - murder, I should say. So unless you want to see Turlough in tears I suggest you don't pursue it.”

“What are you talking about?” Scully asked absently, pulling on latex gloves.

“The boy has some kind of brand on his upper arm.” He paused, looking to Scully with horror. “It... it looks like... those scars... the vaccination scars I found... those people in the boxcar... but I think it's been...burned in. It's uh - some kind of double triangle, maybe some kind of criminal brand or - ?”

“Shut up! I said it's none of your business!” Turlough fought with the sheet to stand and turned to face Mulder, trying to pull the sheet to cover his whole body. He yelled, “Get away from me! All of you!”

Mulder walked away from the bed, backwards. He joined Fraser and Vecchio. The Doctor looked from Scully, who was nonchalantly preparing the needle, to Turlough.

“Now, Turlough –” the Doctor began gently.

Scully took the Doctor's arm, quickly finding a vein and inserting the needle. The Doctor looked down at his arm, then at Scully's face. She was concentrated on her task. Meanwhile Fraser approached the foot of the bed while Turlough was trying to walk across the bed, but then he stumbled on the bundle of sheet and crashed into Fraser. He shouted angrily and started to cry. Fraser held him awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do, patting his shoulder, and looked from Mulder, who was shocked and confused, to Scully, who was taking no notice whatsoever. Scully removed the needle from the Doctor's arm and pocketed the plastic container of blood. She then proceeded to cover the injection mark with cotton wool and surgical tape.

“This has quite frankly gone beyond ridiculous,” Fraser said, still holding on to Turlough. “Surely these people have rights? They may not be human, but they are obviously intelligent beings. I found this boy beaten and bleeding in a back street, the victim of a crime. Had I known he was an extraterrestrial, I would certainly not have brought him here. Perhaps then he would have been in less danger.”

“We have to determine whether they are any threat to national security,” Scully explained.

“Yeah, great thinking, Dana!” Vecchio snapped. “You're telling me that these guys are the vanguard of an alien task-force?! I guess they're really shapeshifters and their natural form is kind of green and squidgy with tentacles! These guys! A couple of fags with British accents - the only threat is that they'll try and force-feed to us tea, Judy Garland movies and tacky disco!”

Mulder looked at his feet, trying not to laugh.

“Ray, I fail to see what Judy Garland and disco - or indeed tea - have to do with our present situation,” Fraser said, confused.

“I get it,” Mulder said, meeting Vecchio’s eyes with a smirk.

“All I can say is I wish I didn't,” the Doctor said, rolling his eyes and sighing.

Scully sighed and took the tube of blood out of her pocket. The Doctor looked down at his crudely bandaged arm, ripping off the cotton wool with a little wince and looked around for a bin to put it in. There wasn't one. He gave up and stuck it in his jacket pocket. When he looked up Scully was holding the tube up to the light and squinting.

“It's very bright, Doctor,” Scully commented dubiously on the Doctor’s blood.

“Of course it's bright! Just like the rest of me!” He beamed at her. Scully frowned at him and pocketed the blood for a second time.

Turlough moved away from Fraser. “Doctor, that's awful. Even for you.”

The Doctor smiled as if paid a compliment, “Really?” He paused and then went on, “Well, since these people seem to have no intention of letting either of us go, and you have no clothes until I can get to the TARDIS, why don't you get back into bed?” Turlough sat down on the bed, cross-legged. The Doctor looked up at Vecchio. “Detective?”

“I brought some hot chocolate.” Vecchio handed the cup to Turlough, who took it, sniffed it, tasted it, grinned and downed it. He smiled innocently up at Vecchio, holding out the empty cup.

“Please?”

“Okay, all right. D'ya want something to eat?”

Turlough looked to the Doctor for an answer. He was examining the tiny pinprick of an injection mark on the inside of his elbow, squinting at it, licking one finger and rubbing at it as if it itched terribly but he was afraid of re-opening a terrible wound.

“Hey, I asked you not him, didn't I? You hungry?”

“No. I'm not. But I'd like some more of that sweet stuff. What is it?”

“Hot chocolate. Don't you get that at English public school?”

“Nothing like that. Everything at Brendon was inedible.”

Vecchio poked Turlough's ribs gently. “You stay here and we'll soon fatten you up.”

He smiled and left. Fraser followed him. They walked towards a vending machine in a hospital corridor, Vecchio fumbling with change. Fraser walked beside him, hands clasped behind his back, looking at the floor. He looked at Vecchio.

“So, Ray. You want to feed Turlough?”

“He's skinny and unhappy. Come on, Frasier - was I the only one who was listening? His mother was murdered!”

“It's a very Italian way of expressing love, if I may say so.”

“I do not love him, and no, you may not say so.”

They then reached the machine. Vecchio fed money in and programmed it. While the cup was filling he turned to Fraser with a sigh.

“I don't want to say this... I mean, Dana's my friend and all, and I...”

“What is it?”

“I don't trust those two FBI agents, Benny.”

“No. No, Ray. Neither do I.”


	5. Chapter 5

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, in Oxford, a journalist of some repute and an ex member of UNIT, illegally parked her car on the High and bounded up the steps of a Victorian woman’s college, Lady Julian. She called her greeting to the porter.

“Hello Amanda. Is she busy?”

“Oh! Miss Smith. We assumed the Counsellor was with you. We’ve not seen her since yesterday lunchtime.”

“She’s not been answering her phone, which is why I’ve driven down. Has anyone checked...” Sarah Jane stopped herself. Very few in the college were privy to the truth about their college Warden and Bursar, known as the Counsellor. The truth being, of course, she was a Time Lady who had set up the college in 1909, having arrived in Oxford in 1879. “Is her secretary in?”

“Oh yes, in the Counsellor’s rooms.”

“May I?” Sarah Jane gestured through the gatehouse to the front quad beyond.

“Of course.”

The first thing Sarah Jane noticed as she entered the Counsellor’s rooms was the huge, doubled doored, carved wardrobe still stood proudly at the back of the study. Miranda, the Counsellor’s PA, whose mother and grandmother had been secretary and lady’s maid for the Counsellor previously, sat on one of the soft seats in the tutorial area, weeping. Sarah Jane knelt beside her and tried to understand what had happened.

Between them, over a pot of tea, they realized that she was not at college, not with Sarah, naturally, but unlikely to be with UNIT or UNICEF, as she would have left notes or a message. She had left to go for a walk in the Botanic Garden before lunch following a difficult session with a tutee whose mother had died. She had said she may not eat in college but would be back for her theory tutorial with her politics students at four. There was still no sign of her, now, 40 hours later. 

* * *

In a spare lab in the hospital Turlough had been brought to Scully and Dr Klaus, with shocked expressions on their faces, were examining a computer diagram of the composition of the Doctor's blood. Scully hit some buttons. The screen changed, but Scully's expression did not change. She looked at Dr Klaus.

“My God,” Dr. Klaus said flatly.

“There must be some kind of a malfunction,” Scully replied with a frown.

“There's not. There can't be. We had an engineer in yesterday - it's completely bug-free.”

“Then –”

“Looks like we've got an alien on our hands.”

* * *

“So why are you here?” Mulder demanded of the Doctor and Turlough.

“Oh, no particular reason. We travel a lot... tourists, if you like. Yes?”

“So, why Chicago?”

“D'you know, I haven't the faintest idea?” the Doctor said brightly. “The TARDIS can be a teensy bit unreliable at times...”

“At times!” Turlough butted in.

The Doctor gave Turlough a derisive look before he went on, “Well, the old girl is getting on a bit. I had to make a materialization - a forced landing if you will - er, technical problems.” He changed his voice to a deliberately camp, piss take tone, “Now, if you would be so kind as to arrange for something for Turlough to wear, we'll hop back to the TARDIS and be on our merry way.”

“I'm afraid... that's not possible,” Mulder said weakly, beginning to waver, completely confused. Scully was right, this wasn’t what he expected at all.

Vecchio barged in and marched over to Turlough with more hot chocolate. Fraser knocked a little hesitantly on the open door and then assumed a guard-like position beside it.

“So where were you planning on going before you made this, uh, forced landing?” Mulder asked.

The Doctor corrected, vaguely waving a hand, “Materialization.” He narrowed his eyes to look first at Mulder, then at Vecchio before he said, “ New York, actually.”

“New York!” Mulder seized dramatically. “So you were still coming to the States! Why?”

“Hardly your problem, Agent Mulder. We were planning on visiting the New York of 1969, not... er... what year is this, anyway?”

“Huh?” Mulder was utterly bemused.

Turlough let out a little, exasperated sigh, “1996. September 1996.” He rolled his eyes and added to Vecchio, “At least one of us had the presence of mind to check the time monitor.”

“Huh?” Vecchio was now as bemused as Mulder.

“Stonewall, New York,” the Doctor went on, hammering home his point. “A little lesson in equality, pride and self-respect, wouldn't you think? Mm?” He paused, staring intently first at Mulder, and then Vecchio. “Agent Mulder? Detective Vecchio?”

They looked at him blankly.

“I –” Fraser began. “Doctor, are you implying what I think you are implying?”

“And what did you think I was implying, Constable?”

“I - I'm not sure...”

“Of course, we could always have attended Judy Garland's funeral,” the Doctor added mischievously with a meaningful look at Mulder. Mulder looked confused.

The Doctor went on with an equally meaningful look at Vecchio, “And I've always wanted to meet Noel Coward. Marvellous chap, or so I'm told. Do you know his work?”

“I never said I –” protested Vecchio, suddenly getting what he was being told with a guilty jolt.

“I never said you –”

“I'm sorry I called you a faggot, okay?” Vecchio said, sounding more exasperated than apologetic.

“And I'm sorry I insulted your faith,” the Doctor said sincerely. He turned to Mulder. “Now, Agent Mulder. What on Earth can I tell you concerning your 'Truth'? I'm sure you couldn't even begin to cope with the truth you want so desperately. So what's behind it? Hm?”

“My sister –” Mulder started, choked up.

“Do you want to do this somewhere a little more private?” the Doctor said, not letting go of his gaze.

Angry and afraid, Mulder shouted, “No more evasions!”

The Doctor raised his hands, “All right! All right!” He sat down next to Turlough again. “ Go on. Ask me.”

“What is a Time Lord?”

“Er - a lord of time?” He smiled at Turlough, “Self-explanatory, really.”

Mulder stared at the Doctor, annoyed.

So Turlough began helpfully, “They're the first race in the Universe. They can travel through time and space at their will. They used to intervene in the affairs of lesser races for good and justice, but now they, er, just sit around and watch - well, except for –”

“That's enough, Turlough,” the Doctor said, with a very fake smile to the room.

“Is it just my imagination, or did you just describe angels?” said Vecchio.

“Detective! How kind!” the Doctor’s smile became almost genuine.

“Except angels don't just sit around and watch,” Vecchio went on.

“Thank you, Detective,” the Doctor’s smile became fixed and fake again.

“Who in the hell are you!” Mulder yelled, livid with rage and fear.

“I'm the Doctor,” the Doctor said placidly. “I'm a Time Lord - er, actually, I'm the President of the Time Lords, if you must be picky. In absentia, if you will.”

Mulder turned aggressively to Turlough, “And you. Who are you?”

“My name is Vislor Turlough, since you ask. And no, I am not a Time Lord. I'm a Trion. The Doctor found me at Brendon. That's an English public school, you know.”

Mulder was now so close to hysteria and so perplexed he was halfway between laughing and crying. “You're an alien who went to English public school?”

“Awful, isn't it?” Turlough said flatly.

“But then it's awful if you're human,” added the Doctor sweetly.

Mulder looked desperately between the Doctor and Turlough. “But... you're the same species?”

“No. Weren't you listening? The Doctor's a Time Lord. I'm a Trion. We're not the same species.”

“Well... not exactly the same species. Sort of - cousins.”

“What?!” cried out Mulder and Turlough at the same time.

“Like spiders and scorpions. Different branch, same family.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Mulder.

“Trion was an old Ga - Time Lord colony, seeded in the very early times of Ome - when the Time Lords first started to be... Time Lords. Before Ra - our, er, our founder, er... like a sort of Time Lord George Washington I suppose, was er...”

“Doctor! What are you talking about?!” demanded Turlough.

“Hm? Oh. Didn't you know? Trion was one of the colonies seeded by Omega's followers before Rassilon even came to power on Gallifrey. Long, long ago, when Gallifrey was still a nominal gynarchy if not a real one. You should have learnt that from your history books.”

“I didn't have much Trion schooling,” Turlough let out a little bitterly.

“No. No.”

“Well, thank you for telling me, anyway,” said Turlough equally bitterly.

“You're quite welcome,” the Doctor muttered absently.

“DOCTOR!!” Turlough yelled.

“Will you two for God's sake shut up! I'm trying to get some serious information!” Mulder shouted.

“Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Agent Mulder. What was it you wanted to know?” the Doctor said flippantly.

Mulder stomped out of the room and slammed the door. He was going in search of Scully. He needed to talk all this bizarre information through.

“Oops. I think you upset him,” Vecchio said, grinning.

“Really?” the Doctor asked brightly.

“Ray,” Fraser said, chipping in, “I really think we ought to find Turlough some clothes.”

“Good point, Constable. He can't go back to the TARDIS in this state, can he?” agreed the Doctor.

“So I take it we're on their side?” confirmed Vecchio.

“I should say so,” said Fraser before he moved to the bed and sat down. “You know, Ray, aliens aren't always hostile. I remember, once when I was hunting elk with my father –” Vecchio sighed dramatically. Fraser ignored him and continued. “- we discovered what we thought was a dying animal half-covered in snow. But when we dug it out of the drift it was an unconscious man dressed in a fur coat. When Dad took his pulse it seemed like he had two hearts. Of course, we waited with him until he came round, and when he did finally wake up his only words were to thank us kindly and ask us which way was north. When Dad tried to question him further he only told us he had to find Jamie and then get back to his TARDIS. Then he was gone.”

The Doctor looked up from the floor to Fraser's face. “Yes, I remember.”

“But - how do you - I mean - you look very different. You're taller. And he had dark hair. Not to mention the fact that he was... somewhat older than you.”

“Appearances can be deceptive, Constable. I've regenerated since then. Three times, in fact!”

“Ah.” Fraser paused, frowning in confusion. “Ah. I see.”

“You do?” asked Vecchio.

“Not entirely, Ray.”

Vecchio walked over to the Doctor and shook him vigorously by the hand. After he had let go, the Doctor looked quizzically at his hand, as if it had suddenly done something unexpected.

“Thank you.”

“Mm?”

“Someone finally managed to floor Benny!”

The Doctor and Fraser made eye contact. The Doctor beamed. Fraser smiled weakly. Turlough laughed. The Doctor wiped his hand with a rather mucky hanky. Then the door banged open again. Mulder and Scully were standing there. Scully was holding the phial of the Doctor's blood.

Scully was speaking, “I don't understand it, and Dr Klaus couldn't explain it either. This blood contains components that would be lethal to the human body.”

The Doctor looked up, “Well, it's a good job I'm not human, then, isn't it?”

Scully ignored him, “It contains a mutated form of the retrovirus we found in the Gregors.”

“Purity control?” questioned Mulder.

The Doctor stood suddenly, offended and shocked, “What!”

Scully turned to the Doctor, “From what we can tell, it's a Government codename for a particular strain of alien DNA.” She then turned to Mulder, “No, but very like it. It contains the same unidentified base pair we found in the Erlenmeyer flask.”

“A sample recovered from the crash at Roswell,” Mulder explained for the Doctor.

“Possibly,” Scully amended.

“Ah. I see. In that case, the sample you've borrowed from UNIT is not Gallifreyan DNA. Funny. They must have my DNA - from another regeneration of course, but it would certainly be more than comparable, which your sample obviously isn't. That's strangely obtuse, even for C19.”

Mulder played dumb for more information. “UNIT? C19? What are you talking about?” Scully glanced at Mulder. He gave her a hasty play-along look. She understood: he was hoping for more information than the Lone Gunmen were able to give him.

“What do you mean - ? You don't know who UNIT are? Does this mean you're not here in an official capacity? Mm?” He looked between Mulder and Scully, who looked at each other, then at the floor. A look of triumph passed over the Doctor's face; he hadn't noticed that Mulder was acting and Scully just looked bemused. “Evidently not! Well! That puts a different complexion on things altogether.”

“But who are UNIT?” demanded Scully.

The Doctor was rather absent in his reply, “The United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. It's a bit of a blanket term really, but the bit I worked for deal with outside threats: Dalek attacks, alien incursions, you know, that sort of thing.”

Mulder was silent, but Scully had immediately equated this organization with the Consortium and kept her composure enough to keep questioning the Doctor. “You used to work for these people?”

“Oh yes. Scientific advisor. Of course that was a couple of lifetimes ago now, but I still keep in touch. It's always good to keep up old connections, don't you think? You never know when you might need them.”

“Scientific advisor.” She gave another glance at Mulder. He raised both eyebrows.

“Don't you mean pet alien?” said Turlough dryly.

The Doctor span around, angry, “If you can't say anything useful, don't say anything at all!”

Turlough burst into tears again. The Doctor sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I have a friend who's a psychotherapist. She does a little marriage guidance work. You know, I'm sure I could get you a free hour or two if you asked me,” Vecchio offered. Adding after a pause, “Or ten.”

The Doctor flashed a daggered look of anger at Vecchio, “When I want your input, Detective, I'll ask for it.”

“Doctor!” reproved Turlough.

There was an embarrassed silence.

“I think Agent Mulder needs your friend more than we do, Detective Vecchio,” Turlough said softly.

“Oh no, Turlough. He just needs to unwind a little and get a life,” replied the Doctor, frowning.

Scully put one hand to her mouth, trying to not to laugh. Mulder was also close to tears of confusion and frustration.

“Shut up, kid, okay, just shut up!” he shouted at Turlough.

“No! I will not bloody well shut up! I was sent to this stupid planet to that stupid school where I was raped and beaten and bullied, and now I've come to this stupid city where I'm beaten up and nearly murdered by your stupid doctors!”

There was another long silence. Mulder and Scully both looked at the floor. Fraser and Vecchio were looking at each other. The Doctor was staring at Turlough, who was crying hysterically.

Doctor sat next Turlough and took his hand tentatively, “Come on, Turlough. It's all right. Calm down.”

“No, it's not all right! I hate Earth, and I really hate being naked!”

The Doctor looked up at Mulder. Mulder was still close to tears, but he nodded and went out. The Doctor took off his cricket jumper and gave it to Turlough, who put it on with some help from the Doctor. Then the Doctor held him. Scully looked away from them to make eye contact with Ray, who was looking at the floor. Turlough was drying his eyes on the Doctor's jumper. The Doctor gave him a look of mild disapproval.

“Sorry,” Turlough said, catching the Doctor’s gaze.

Fraser reached over to pat Turlough on the arm. “You've nothing to apologize for, son.” 

Turlough looked at Fraser with pure adolescent hatred.

“Right,” said Scully. “You've had your fun now. You can't play games with me like you can with Agent Mulder, Doctor. Now. Perhaps you'd like to tell me exactly what it is you're doing on Earth?”

“He's told you!” protested Turlough.

“Agent Scully,” Fraser said, shocked, “I strongly object to your description of Turlough's outburst as 'fun'. Did you pay no attention to what he said? Do you not feel ashamed to your very soul? How can you continue to persecute this innocent couple, who are merely travellers and pose no threat whatever?”

“Exactly,” backed up Vecchio.

Constable. Detective,” Scully said with enforced patience. “I understand your concerns. I am not trying to persecute these two. I am trying to interrogate them. Whether or not they pose a threat to national or indeed international security remains to be seen.” She turned to the Doctor, “Now. What exactly is your business here on Earth?”

* * *

Mulder was leaning into the boot of his and Scully's rental car, searching through a messily packed suitcase. Suddenly, Skinner came up behind him, followed by a dark-haired woman in some form of hi-tech, all-over body armour, sunglasses, and a leather jacket. Skinner cleared his throat. Mulder ignored him.

“Agent Mulder.”

Mulder straightened up and turned, “Yes.” He saw it was Skinner and tried to stand more to attention. “Sir!”

Skinner gestured to the woman beside him, “This is Ace. I've been asked to escort her into your protection.”

Mulder looked at Ace, “Asked? By whom?”

“I'm told she'll be removed from your custody in due course. It's up to you to ensure her safety until then.”

“But sir - how will I –”

“I'm sure I can trust you to carry this out satisfactorily.”

“Uh... yes sir.”

“Good.”

Skinner walked away, leaving Mulder staring at the strange woman with some apprehension. Ace glared at him, immediately hostile.

* * *

Meanwhile, across Chicago, downtown at the art gallery, Bernice jammed her hands into her jeans pockets and sighed. She looked up from the floor, glanced around, and then finally saw the Doctor. He waved cheerfully. She glowered.

“Enjoying your afternoon?” asked the Doctor, beaming.

“Oh yes,” snapped Professor Bernice Summerfield. “Eavesdropping is my second favourite pastime after waiting around for idiots who won't tell me what's going on!”

“Eavesdropping?”

“Well?”

“What did you hear?”

They were standing facing each other, staring each other down. Bernice kept staring, but spoke very sharply.

“Your pet cruise telephoned his boss and talked about you. I don't think he liked you very much. Have you got to meet him again?”

“That's none of your business!”

“It's Ace's business!” yelled Benny, before falling silent a moment, centring herself. “Why do you keep me in the dark? I'm just as intelligent as her aren't I? I'm just as trustworthy? Or is it just that I don't threaten to blow your head off if you don't tell me the truth?”

The Doctor remained silent.

“Why do you always lie to me?” shouted Benny, furious.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot darkens...

The Doctor stood up, hands in pockets, “I am not lying!”   
“I'm not convinced, Doctor,” Scully replied. “Your story is... fantastic at best. Perjurous at worst. Are you sure you want to continue with this line of argument?”

“Yes!” the Doctor paused, looking momentarily confused. “What do you mean, perjurous? This isn't a court! We're not even under arrest!... Are we?”

“Of course not,” Scully said quickly. 

Just then Mulder returned to the room with Ace. He threw jeans, underpants and a shirt on the bed - all far too big for Turlough - and glanced to Scully as if hoping to communicate something psychically to her. It obviously didn’t work. She gave him a quizzical look. Ace glared at the occupants of the room, arms folded.

“This is Ace,” Mulder explained. “Skinner told me to watch her.”

“I see why,” Vecchio said dryly, looking her up and down.

“Skinner's here?” Scully was puzzled.

“No. He just left.”

“But... what's he doing in Chicago?”

“I... don't know.”

“Bringing Ace up here, I guess,” said Vecchio flippantly, going on archly, while still eyeing up Ace, “Is it an urgent mission?”

Mulder glared at him. So did Ace, a much more powerful, hateful glare. She glowered at Scully for no apparent reason.

“What is going on here, hm?” demanded the Doctor. “Who is this woman? How has she been equipped with 25th century body armour? And why have you been asked to protect a woman who is currently carrying at least seven armed weapons?”

“Uh - uh - uh –” stumbled Mulder.

“We don't know the answers to these questions, Doctor. In fact, I suspect you are better informed than we are. Perhaps you would care to fill us in?” Scully said coldly. 

“Doctor? That's not the Doctor!” Ace let out, amused.

Everyone turned to look at her incredulously. Ace, however, laughed harshly.

“The Doctor's a little bastard with curly hair and a stupid umbrella, not some blond tosser who wants to play for the England XI!”

“Oh... dear,” said the Doctor, recognizing the description..

“I'm confused,” Vecchio complained.

“Another regeneration?” asked Turlough of the Doctor.

“I sincerely hope not,” began the Doctor, concealing the truth. “That would complicate matters needlessly. After all, I'm sure I wouldn't just blunder into the same place twice... er, twice.” He's frowned, as he recognized Ace's description only too well, unfortunately.

“Doctor, would you mind explaining what is going on?” demanded Fraser politely. “These two FBI agents seem to have blundered into something they don't understand, and as for Miss Ace... perhaps she also could shed some light on the matter?”

“Delicately put, Constable. I'm sure Ace has some information on our, er... situation. As for myself and Turlough, I'm afraid our ignorance is astounding. Ace will have to - explain it all, as they say.”

“Miss Ace?”

“It's just Ace,” Ace paused to do some more hate filled glowers. “Look, the Professor just shoved me in this building and told me to fend for myself, okay? I haven't got a crukking clue what's going on! He's probably off doing some serious plotting with Benny and some pretty Silurians... or shagging the President. One or the other.” She paused again, this time smiling evilly as everyone stared, particularly the Doctor. “Oh, I s'pose he'll show up and tell you about it when he can be bothered.”

“Gallifreygate,” quipped Vecchio.

“Hmm,” Scully was not impressed.

“I'm not sure I appreciate the lack of respect with which you have just described my future self, Ace.”

“Sor-ry.”

“Oh, I wouldn't put it past you, Doctor,” Turlough chipped in.

“Wouldn't you!”

“No, not really.”

“I find that remark extremely offensive.”

“Oh dear.”

“Can't you keep your lovers' tiffs to the bedroom? Or at least the TARDIS?” asked Ace.

“No, they can't,” Vecchio answered. “They've provided us with hours of entertainment. And I've tried to provide them with marriage guidance. Unfortunately they don't seem to approve of therapy.”

“Trust me, it's a good thing.”

“Now that I have some clothes, would any of you mind if I had some space to get dressed?” Turlough demanded. No one moved. He glared hostilely. He could give Ace a run for her money when it came to glaring hatefully, that was certain, the Doctor mused as he watched. He gave Turlough a reproving look. “Now?” demanded Turlough forcefully in a voice that spoke of privilege and the regal accustom to getting one’s own way. Fraser was the only one who went to leave. He stopped at the door.

“Come on, Ray.”

The two cops left. Scully gave the Doctor and Turlough a particularly nasty look and followed them out, followed by Mulder. The Doctor gave Ace a long, reproving stare and she stared back a few moments before flouncing out in a sulk. The Doctor followed her out, closing the door.

* * *

Back in the art gallery, in its fancy roof garden restaurant Bernice was drinking white wine and eating tagliatelle al funghi. The Doctor had a salad sandwich - white bread - and a glass of water. There was a large, vivid painting of a vase of red flowers on the wall next to them, and everything around the restaurant was brightly coloured - turquoise, red and yellow chrome chairs, dazzling white plastic tables and a fake mosaic linoleum floor. The walls all around were decorated with pieces of art in various traditions. There was a small metal sculpture of a naked man with one bent arm beside the gents' loos.

“Really, Bernice?”

“Yes. Really.”

“That's quite fascinating.”

“Doctor, for cruk's sake will you listen to me!”

The Doctor gazed absently at the sculpture and sipped his water, “I am listening.”

Benny sighed, “So, then the unicorn said...”

The Doctor’s head snapped back around to stare at his companion, “What unicorn?”

“Ha! Caught you out there, didn't I? Got you listening for a change!”

“Yes, but where did the unicorn come from?”

Bernice rolled her eyes and sighed. The Doctor flashed her a grin, which she returned. She sipped her wine and ate some pasta. The Doctor started to play with a lettuce leaf on his plate, thinking. Then he looked up, and caught someone's eye. The someone walked towards the gents. Bernice sighed and watched him follow yet another man into the lavatory. 

In the gents the Doctor snapped, “Yes yes, but what do you want?”

“Just a moment of your time, Doctor.”

The Doctor sighed and flicked his eyes towards the urinal. Then he wrinkled his nose.  
“Don't you have any sense of proper hygiene on this planet?”

“Shut up.”

The Doctor beamed, “All right then,” he said brightly. 

“Do you want this deal or not!” the man snapped with some irritation.

The Doctor just kept smiling.

“Answer the fucking question!”

“But you told me to shut up,” the Doctor pointed our, reasonably enough, he thought. The man, however, clenched his fist and loomed over the Doctor. “Yes. Yes. Of course I want the deal. Why are you here?”

“To give you this.”

He thrust a package into the Doctor's hand and stormed out, but not before giving him a hearty push towards the wall. The Doctor took a moment to recover his balance, then looked at the package with disappointment. His brow creased into a frown. He muttered to himself despondently, “I was expecting rather more than that.”  
He then put the package into a satchel and left the lavatory. He stopped beside the metal sculpture and spent a moment digging in the big brown bag. Then he smiled. He pulled out of his satchel a red flower, grinned at it, and stuck it in the bent elbow of the sculpture. Then he looked up at the painting next to Bernice and smiled. They were the same type of flower. He looked at his handiwork with some pride.

* * *

The Counsellor came to on a cold stone floor in the darkness. She could hear thundering rain outside and there was a little barred window far, far above her, shedding just enough light to see by once her eyes became used to it. She hugged her knees to her chest. It felt like she had been unconscious for a long time. She vaguely remembered waking in the back of a car before something had been shoved over her mouth and then again, very groggily, hearing the drone of an engine before sliding back into oblivion. She had no sense of time, of how long, of where spatially. It was very disorientating. Downright scary in fact. She just didn’t do this. She did xeno theology and anthropology and recently, for the past century, taught politics, sociology, philosophy and theology to young human females. She emphatically did not do this! 

She decided to pull herself together and get her bearings. The cell was about five foot by eight foot. She had been thrown into one corner, and left there. There was a bed on one side of the cell, with a rough blanket thrown onto it, a metal pot and a jug of water and a glass. She was facing a huge iron door. She got up and started to kick at it and pummel it with the flats of her hands.

“Help! Help!” she yelled. “Let me out I say! Do you hear me! Get me the fuck out of here! Is anyone listening!”

Desperately she almost assaulted the door and shouted until her palms were raw, her feet hurt and her voice was hoarse. She was taking long, heavy breaths, almost sobs, as she backed away from the door and sat on the bed, wrapping the coarse blanket around her shoulders for warmth. Then the door opened. Light floods over her face. Panicked, she took another deep breath.

A man in a dark suit and shades, despite the gloom, pushed a tray into the cell and started to shut the door again. Desperate, panicked, she got up and to run for the gap, but the guard, if that was what he was, caught her and physically threw her against the wall. Her head cracked against the floor.

She woke up again. There was a tray of food on the floor. She sat up and curled herself into a little ball, sobbing.

“Oh Sarah...”

* * *

Sarah Jane Smith was pacing up and down in the Counsellor’s study in her Victorian university women’s college, past her TARDIS, a large double-doored wardrobe, holding a mobile phone to her ear. She was breathing hard and waiting for the person on the other end to answer the phone. Eventually someone did and she breathed sharply in relief.

“Yes, hello. Can I speak to Sir John please? 

“Sarah Jane Smith.

“I, er... I'm a... friend of Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. 

“No, not really. 

“That's right. Thank you.” She waited for some moments, angry at being on hold, knowing the phone was being checked and she also against UNIT records. Eventually she was put through to someone higher up and let out a sigh of relief it was in fact who she asked for. “Hello? Sir John? 

“Yes, that's right. 

“Sarah Jane Smith. I used to work with - 

“That's right. 

“Yes. Listen – 

“Mm-hm. Yes, it's good to talk to you too. 

“Yes, hasn't it? Now - 

“Er - 

“Well, actually I haven't seen him in quite a while. 

“No, I'm sure he's fine. 

“No, I still see him quite regularly. Actually that's because - 

“No. No, I'm not seeing Mike.” Sarah Jane frowned, furious at such a ridiculous, sexist assumption. 

“No, that's completely untrue! Where did you - 

“Oh. That's odd. Anyway –” she sighed in frustration and anger. She just wasn’t getting through. 

“Yes, I did phone for a reason. A friend of mine's gone missing and I wondered if you could help me find her. 

“About thirty-six hours. 

“Yes, she's had a little involvement with UNIT, but – 

“Yes, that's right. 

“The Counsellor. 

“No, er - 

“Well, that was all in the eighties. 

“No, no, ages ago. I really don't - 

“Well I wondered if you could put me in touch with the –” She glanced to the wardrobe before answering, “No, no, that's still here. 

“I don't see why. 

“No, I really don't think that'll be necessary. 

“But could you –” By now she was so disheartened. She obviously was going to get no help from UNIT or C19. 

“Okay. Thank you, Sir John. Goodbye.”

She turned the phone off and put it in her jacket pocket, then dug around in her neckline for a key. She found it and opened the wardrobe, then smiled as she stepped into a pink backlit TARDIS console room. 

* * *

In the hospital corridor Mulder and Scully were talking a short way away from the others. Vecchio was expressing his frustration in a very loud and Italian way. Fraser was listening patiently. Ace was playing with something on her wrist. The Doctor was staring at the floor, fists in pockets.

“Are you really from the twenty-fifth century?” Ace doesn’t answer so the Doctor continued, “I'm surprised that any of my future incarnations would allow you to wander around in 1996 with future technology.” He paused to scowl with disapproval. “Especially weaponry. Where exactly are you from? Earth? Or a colony?”

“Perivale.”

“Ah. Oh. Ah.... I didn't realize Perivale was rebuilt by 2400. It wasn't really a priority area... ah well, I suppose you can't predict humans. Especially the London variety.”

“I was born in 1971.”

“I see... I find it even less plausible that a future incarnation of mine would allow a twentieth century woman - adolescent, I should say - to indulge in weapons technology from her own future.”

“I'm not an adolescent, I'm an adult. And the Doctor doesn't control what I do.”

“I can see that.”

Just then Mulder and Scully wander over, Scully was trying to look threatening, Mulder was gazing at the Doctor in half-wonder, half-terror.

“We've been discussing our... uh, case, and I think I've convinced Agent Mulder that the best place to do this would be back in DC, where we'll have access to full forensic and medical facilities. I'd like to do a full medical exam on both you and Turlough, and try to get your blood analysed more thoroughly, Doctor. Meanwhile we'd like to interview Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio.”

Vecchio turned to listen and interrupted, angrily, “I'm not sure I'm gonna be able to clear that with the Chief.”

“Of course, Agent Scully, we'd be only too happy to assist with your investigation in any way that we can. But I'm sure you'll appreciate that our own work obligations may obstruct us slightly,” Fraser said, trying to moderate Ray’s rudeness.

“I'm sure Chicago can spare a cop and a Mountie for a couple of days,” Scully answered smugly.

“Wait a minute!” snapped the Doctor. “I'm not sure I entirely approve of this! Turlough is in a very vulnerable physical state and I'm not quite sure he'll withstand a medical examination... certainly not one performed in the human medical tradition. I'm quite happy to co-operate with your investigation myself, as I have said before, but I am adamant that Turlough must be protected. Do you understand me?”

“I think you've made yourself clear,” said Scully before pausing, trying to appear menacing. “We don't mean any harm to you or your... friend, Doctor. Of course I'll try to make my exam as unobtrusive as possible. I appreciate that Turlough is sick, and that evidently Earth medical technology is vastly inferior to your own, but if you really are an extraterrestrial I feel it's important for us to try and accumulate as much hard information as –”

“Can you confirm or deny the existence of a contract between any Earth organization and an alien race?” Mulder cut off his partner, interrupting her, desperate to know the truth.

“No, Agent Mulder.”

“Can you confirm or deny the existence of aliens at all?”

The Doctor paused for a long time, looking at Mulder carefully. “No, Agent Mulder. Not to you.”

* * *

Meanwhile, in a shopping mall in downtown Chicago the Doctor, in his seventh persona, was in the checked trousers and jumper, but no jacket. Instead he had a brown leather satchel; his jacket was, in fact, folded up inside the satchel, but Bernice didn't quite understand the mechanics of how. Surprising, even the Doctor seemed to be suffering in the unnatural heat wave. He was arm in arm with Bernice, who had short hair and was dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt, a brightly patterned waistcoat adding a splash of colour to the rather otherwise sombre ensemble. They were looking in a shop window. Bernice was pointing at a particularly garish tie. “I like that,” she said, laughing.

“Do you?” asked the Doctor, pulling a face.

“Yeah. It's stylish.”

But it most certainly was not so the Doctor dragged her on.

“I was joking, you know.”

“Really?” the Doctor sounded sceptical.

“Course I was. It was horrible. Chronically ugly.”

The Doctor smiled. “Really? I rather liked it.”

Bernice sighed. They walked on, chatting meaninglessly, until they bumped into Tegan. She apologized and nearly managed to scuffle away, but the Doctor caught her arm.

“Tegan?”

“Yeah, what of it? How do you know me?”

“Tegan Jovanka?”

“Yeah, I already said. Who are you?”

The Doctor and Bernice looked at each other.

The Doctor sighed and tried to sound like his fifth persona, “You already know me, Tegan. It's me. I'm the Doctor. And this is Benny Summerfield.”

“You've regenerated!”

“Yes... twice, since we last saw each other.”

“What?” She grabbed his arm, concerned. “Twice! In two hours! Are you all right?”

“What?”

Bernice laughed. The Doctor and Tegan turned to her, confused.

“That's hilarious,” Benny said.

“What is?”

“What's going on?” demanded Tegan.

“Good question. Benny?”

“Well I don't know. Why would I know? I'm just a companion.”

“Benny!”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He turned to Tegan. “Tegan?”

Tegan shrugged.

“Well then. I suppose it's down to me, isn't it? And I don't know. So I'm just going to have to make it all up.”

“As usual, you mean?” said Benny.

“I know what you mean,” agreed Tegan.

“Shut up! I'm trying to think!”

Tegan and Bernice shared a look that basically said ‘Oooooh!’ and sighed. They watched as the Doctor put his hand to his chin, took it away again, put one finger in the air, put it down and shook his head.

“So. What's your Doctor like, then? Before the, er...”

“Yeah. Well he's tall and blond and really good looking...”

“Mmm...” said Bernice with serious interest.

“But he's really stuffy. And anyway, he's gay.”

“You don't say!”

“You know?”

“Hard not to,” said Benny with a not entirely friendly look at the Doctor, who was currently searching his satchel with a frown on his face.

“That's not very nice!”

“What? It doesn't bother me! It's just something he doesn't bother to hide.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Especially where men in power are concerned.”

“What?” said the Doctor, coming up to the women.

“Nothing,” replied Bernice.

She and Tegan burst out laughing.

“What?” demanded the Doctor, confused.

“What?” retorted Benny, defiant.

“What?”

“What?”

“Shut up! Both of you! God, this is like playing referee to the Doctor and Turlough.” Tegan paused and gave the Doctor a meaningful look. “The real Doctor, that is.”

“I am the real Doctor!” he paused, caught up in memories, “Turlough?! Is he here?”

“Yeah, worse luck.”

“Who's Turlough?” demanded Benny, with interest.

“Never mind!” snapped the Doctor abruptly.

“He's the Doctor's boyfriend, of course,” explained Tegan.

“Rrrrreally?” 

“No he isn't! Of course he isn't! He's dead!” snapped the Doctor.

Tegan and Bernice turned to stare at the Doctor.

“What?! Oh my God. Oh my God. Turlough's really dead? Oh, bloody hell, Doctor. First Adric, now...”

“Yes he is! He died trying to save a planet with a self-destruct and got caught in the blast! He's dead.”

Tegan was almost crying now, “Oh my God... poor Turlough...”

The Doctor was also holding back tears, “No, not really.”

“Doctor, are you all right?” Benny asked, concerned, touching his arm.

“No!” He marched off and stood about ten yards away from Tegan and Bernice, staring at the floor.

“Cruk.”

Tegan wiped her eyes and looked at Bernice. “Can't believe it. I don't even really know what happened.” She paused, frowning in confusion. “What planet? Where the hell's the Doctor been for the past two hours?”

Benny also frowned, “Here. With me. We were at an art gallery... then we had lunch... then we came here. We've been window-shopping.”

“What? Who are you, anyway? Where'd you meet the Doctor - heaven?”

“Yeah, actually. How'd you know that?”

“Lucky guess?” said Tegan bitterly.

“Have you been there?”

“Where?”

“Heaven.”

“No. Never had the pleasure. Not in this life, anyway.” Tegan paused, thinking of Turlough and what on Earth could have happened. “Is it nice up there?” she asked wistfully.

“It's okay. It's full of hippies and Hoothi though. Not a terribly nice place to live near the end of the time I was there.”

“What? There's even monsters in heaven?”

“They get everywhere,” Benny replied pensively.

The Doctor had come back and had been listening in. “Yes they do, Bernice.” He looked at Tegan. “I'm here.”

“What?”

“I'm here. I understand now. That's why Tegan's - I'm here, Benny.”

“Well obviously!”

“No no, I didn't mean it like that. I'm - he's here. With Turlough. The other me.”

“What?”

“Oh bugger. Not again.”

“What? Hm. Yes. Let's not talk about that.” He shrugged. “Well, I suppose I don't have to meet me - er, him. Turlough isn't dead... um, yet. Sorry. Please forget all I said about Turlough’s future. I hope you can understand why without me explaining. I always remember you as a very intelligent, brave, resourceful young woman Tegan.”

“Um. Thanks. I guess. And everyone’s gotta die sometime. At least you didn’t tell me about me.”

“No.” The Doctor looked at Tegan a long while. “Brave heart Tegan,” he said, touching her arm lightly, before instructing her, “I think you'd better find your Doctor and - er - get on with whatever it was you were doing.”

“What do you think I was trying to do?”

“He can be rather elusive,” Bernice said sympathetically. Tegan glanced at Bernice before demanding,

“Exactly. So if you, er, they, haven't spent the last two hours on some alien planet blowing...” Bernice sniggered. “...each other up or window-shopping or whatever it was you said... where are you - er - they - er - ?”

“I can't remember.” The Doctor sounded worried. He paused and looked to Tegan.   
“You'll just have to go and find them, Tegan.”

“Unless you'd rather spend the afternoon with us?” offered Bernice.

“Benny!”

“Well, why not? I mean, she must want a break from all that taxing searching.”

“All that taxing searching? She's only come from the TARDIS just over there!” He pointed with his umbrella. Bernice looked in the direction he was pointing.

“Oh come on, Doctor, give her a break. That's at least fifty metres! And anyway, it'd probably be a good idea to replace those, er... can you call them clothes?”

“Ah yes. I see what you mean.”

“What are you talking about? There's nothing wrong with my clothes! I got them a while ago in London in 2013. From a shop called Primark. The Doc was investigating them.”

The Doctor nodded vaguely, “Kaldari fire monsters in Bangladesh. I remember that.”

Bernice ignored him. Same old as far as she was concerned. “Mmm. Doctor, we could take her shopping. It'll take her mind off things. And we've got a whole afternoon in front of us.”

“Yes. Yes, you have, haven't you? You can help her track down my younger self too – but be careful what you say to him Benny.”

Bernice nodded, a serious nod – of course she would not tell him his future, she had learnt something of temporal mechanics and morality travelling with him.

“Well enjoy yourselves, ladies,” the Doctor went on, “I'll see you back at the TARDIS in 72 hours, Bernice.”

“What! Where are you going?”

“I've got a nasty little job to do. And I've been putting it off for far too long. Don't get in the way, Benny, there's a good girl.”

Bernice stared, hating this, hating him, all of a sudden, more making her suddenly so scared. “Doctor, what are you going to do?”

“That's none of your business, Bernice. Stay away from downtown Chicago, and don't go back to Washington until the day after tomorrow. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“I don't,” Tegan snapped, not sure that she liked this incarnation at all.

“Well,” said the Doctor brightly, “you don't need to, really.” He tipped his hat. “I'll see you.”

He walked quite jauntily away, swinging his umbrella. But Bernice kept staring after him. “Will you...?” She turned to Tegan and hugely faked a smile. “Well, Teegs. Shopping.”

* * *

Across the mall, a man in a black suit and Raybands was on a payphone. He listened for a moment, glanced at the Doctor walking towards him, then at Bernice and Tegan, then at his watch. He looked back to the Doctor, who was swinging his umbrella.

“Yes, sir.”

He looked back to Bernice and Tegan, who were talking. Then he looked at the Doctor, who came very close and was about to pass him. Their eyes locked. The Doctor nodded... and walked on. The stranger watched him go, then looked back to Bernice and Tegan.

Bernice and Tegan linked arms and walked off in the opposite direction from the Doctor. The man watched for a time, then followed them from a distance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We begin to understnad what the Consortium are trying to do and what the Doctor is trying to prevent.

The Doctor walked out of the shopping mall, along a lot of streets and past a hospital. He didn’t notice, or bizarrely and worryingly, if he had noticed, remember the first time around, that behind him as he walked past, a blond man and a redheaded boy were being bundled into a car. He was swinging his umbrella, oblivious to what was happening to his younger self, intent on his plans and enjoying the sunshine. After a long walk he turned into a side street, walked up it, went up to an unremarkable semi-detached house and went in through the open door. He pushed it shut behind him and banged on the floor with his umbrella, impatient to get this all this over and done.

“Hello! I'm here!” he called

“Password!” called a threatening male with a mid-western accent.

“Doctor?” offered the Doctor.

A youngish black man in a dark suit and Raybands came down the stairs carrying a gun and without speaking he showed the Doctor up the stairs and into a small smoky room full of men in suits standing up and talking. The conversation ceased the moment the Doctor and the guard, agent, whatever the young man was, entered. The man assumed a form of guard duty just inside the door so the Doctor assumed it was safe to call him guard. He beamed at the generality in a wilful attempt to confuse and annoy. It worked so often in the past!

“Hello everyone,” the Doctor called cheerfully.

A silver-haired man in a dark grey suit stepped forward to address the Doctor. He wasn’t smoking, unlike the other that the Doctor was so strangely aware of. The smoking man’s gaze never wavered from the Doctor for a second, conveying all sorts of confusing ideas: recognition, fear, admiration, sexual desire. The Doctor tried desperately to ignore the smoking man at the back of the room and concentrate on the silver-haired one that had stepped forward. He looked at the Doctor flatly.

“Doctor. So good of you to come,” the silver-haired man said smoothly. His hands, the Doctor noticed, were incredibly well manicured, which was odd for a man of this era, particularly an older man who had so obviously been in an army at some point of his life. The Doctor could not work out if this well-manicured man was English or American. The Doctor looked him in the eyes, frowned, looked at his body, and beamed happily. He had strangely shrunk in height – a wasting illness? – but once the Doctor had naughtily peeped into his mind he knew him. The man, however, for some reason, obviously did not wish the others know of their past alliance.

“Group-Captain Gilmore! What a pleasant surprise. It's good to see you. How are the Daleks these days?”

“Daleks, Doctor?”

“Yes, Daleks! Coal Hill, 1963! Don't you remember?” the Doctor paused maliciously, giving a particularly vicious look up at the man. “Enough of your men were killed. I should think it would be a memorable experience.”

The man at the back of the room, with his disconcerting predatorial gaze and permanent sinister smoking, interrupted, “The Consortium has no official record of a race called the Daleks, Doctor.” He dropped his cigarette. “But I suppose your ramblings are irrelevant as long as you do what we're paying you to do. Shall we get down to business?”

“Yes, let's.”

The man handed the Doctor a piece of paper. It stank of nicotine. “The merchandise is ready for transportation. Your source at this point of contact will provide you with the location of the merchandise. We presume it will be disposed of with priority speed?”

The Doctor gave his most idiotic beam, intended to annoy, “It'll be gone by morning.”

There was a tiny signal, as Gilmore indicated a finger to the young man guarding the door and the smoking man nodded slightly, barely noticeable. The Doctor was being too busy irritating to notice it, any way. The guard pressed his gun into the small of the Doctor's back.

The man who had been smoking grabbed the Doctor’s face. “It better be, Doctor. Or you'll be receiving payment of a rather different kind.” He paused, presumably to threaten. “And your young friends. Miss Summerfield and her shopping partner. Is this clear?”

“Yes, perfectly,” snapped the Doctor. “There's no need to get tetchy.”

The man let go of the Doctor's face, nodding to the guard who removed the gun and resumed guard duty. The Doctor let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and relaxed slightly.

“What do you want? I thought we had a deal!” demanded the Doctor angrily.

“We do, Doctor. I just want to make sure you keep your part of the bargain.”

“Well I think you've made yourself understood!”

“Good.” He handed a stuffed envelope to the Doctor; it also smelt of cigarettes. “You'll receive the other thousand when the job is done.”

The Doctor made a show of looking in the envelope. “Hm. Bit stingy. Still - it'll have to do.”

“Two thousand was the deal, Doctor.”

“Indeed it was. Goodbye. And goodbye to you, John. I hope you have a pleasant... repentance.”

He beamed. Gilmore stared after him, lost in memories he thought he had buried for good. The other man, the one the Doctor had decided was called John, lit another cigarette and smoked it as the Doctor walked out, swinging the umbrella. Gilmore then turned to the other.

“Have him killed.”

“Yes sir.”

“And put out that damned cigarette.”

Gilmore walked out angrily as the other looked at his cigarette quizzically.

* * *

The Doctor stood in a convenient alleyway, hidden enough to not be observed but able to observe quite easily. He watched as Gilmore walked across the road, got in the passenger side of an anonymous-looking black car and was driven away by another armed man in a black suit and shades. He looked at the other cars - of various colours - which were parked along the street. They all had stoic-looking armed men in dark suits and sunglasses at the wheel. The Doctor frowned and shivered at that much show of power for an organization that should not be drawing attention to itself. Alien tech and world protection – mafia protection more likely, the Doctor summarized. He shivered again before muttering,

“Someone just walked over my grave.”

He strode purposefully out of the alleyway and down the street, not swinging the umbrella any more. He tossed the money into the gutter as he walked. From the darkness, the smoking man the Doctor had called John stepped out of the shadows in an alley opposite where the Doctor had been to watch him go. The Doctor didn't look behind him. The man clicked the safety back onto his gun.

“Yes, Doctor. It was me.”

He turned around to go back into a side door in the house, pausing by the door to light yet another cigarette.

* * *

In a small, dark airless concrete room, the Counsellor was being interrogated by two sinister people in dark business suits, the Pakistani man in a tie and the very pale skinned, red-haired woman a tight skirt, open necked blouse displaying a string of black beads choked around her neck. The man held a gun in his hand, not threatening, just letting the Counsellor know it was there, just in case. The woman was sat on the table, swinging her legs and turning a pen around in her fingers. The Counsellor had been made to sit in a chair facing these two, a bright light shone in her eyes. After what felt like hours in the dank, dark little cell it hurt her Gallifreyan sensitive eyes. She felt disorientated, and more than a little confused. UNIT knew of her existence and after the little debacle following her force feeding in Holloway back in 1912 that saw her in the London Torchwood hub for a week, she had been completely ignored by Torchwood too. UNIT had co-opted her once or twice, but she hadn’t liked it. Call it rent for staying here, dear Uncle Alistair had joshed. Rent! As if she had a choice... The red head was speaking. She tried to bite down her anxiety and daydreams and follow what was said. Best follow His example and take the piss, she decided. Be a fool; find out more that way - be unthreatening and stupid! It always worked for Him.

“Look, there's no point in denying anything. We know you're a Time Lord. We know you know the Doctor. We know there's a connection. All we want to know is the nature of the connection. Then we'll let you go.”

“Am I?”

“Are you what?”

“A Time Lord? Am I really? Or am I just an excellent hoaxer? Hm?”

“There's no point in this. You're only making things worse for yourself. We can go on forever. There's only one of you.”

“Yes. Technically.”

“Technically.”

“Well yes. If I really am a Time Lord - and that is still under debate - then I can regenerate. Several times more. So in theory there are thirteen of me. Although if they should ever meet...”

The woman interrogator had obviously had enough, she asked sardonically, “The universe would explode?”

“Oh, nothing so dramatic. It would just be... rather embarrassing. And for that matter, the sort of astounding coincidence that would have fascinated my friend Dr Jung.”

The man with the gun, who had moved to the back of the room, leaned near the door and played with his gun, just to make sure she still got the point, finally spoke with a flat Yorkshire accent, “This isn't interesting.”

“Oh dear. I do hope boredom isn't a reason for violence on this planet. Some races are so irascible.”

“So you are a Time Lord?”

“Oh no. I'm an alien. I'll give you that.” The Counsellor gave a beatific smile, “A beautiful stranger from the stars with hypontic eyes and an evil plan...” She looked the woman in the eyes. “Or am I just a human with a mental imbalance and a penchant for '50s B-movies? Can you tell?”

“We could give you a medical examination if you'd like. That might clarify things.”

“I wouldn't recommend that. You might make some very disturbing discoveries.” She beamed. “Or you might not. It's all a matter of luck.”

“You're insane.”

“Why yes! But that's what I've been trying to tell you!”

The man and the woman looked at each other in frustration. A signal or message seemed to pass between then before the man with the gun moved forward and put his gun back in its holster.

“What do you know of the Master?” he demanded coldly.

“I don't have a master.” She looked hopefully up at the woman. “Or a mistress. I'm single at the moment.” She beamed. The woman pulled an annoyed, despairing face. “You're not interested? I'm disappointed in you, Jacqueline. I do so like a woman in uniform.” The Counsellor then looked then at the man. “Or a man, for that matter. I'm not too choosy.”

“You can't expect to get out of this by...” snapped the woman.

“Prostituting myself? No. But it is my mother's usual tack. She's escaped from captors... oh, I don't know how many times, by just putting her stilettos in the right place...”

“Shut up.”

“Have you ever heard of the Master?” the man persisted.

“No. I haven't. I have no knowledge of his reputation.”

“What is your connection to the Master?”

“Oh... as stranger to stranger.” The Counsellor paused dramatically and looked up coldly at them both, showing first signs of the alien intelligence beneath the crazy facade. “Look. What is this about, hm?”

“It's about your species. It's about your connection to the former UNIT assistant known as the Doctor. And your connection to the convicted criminal we've been asked to refer to only as the Master.” She stopped speaking for a moment, to stand up and take out her own gun from her handbag. “And now, it’s about your refusal to co-operate with our investigation.” She went to the back of the room and picked up a telephone receiver. She spoke in a voice almost too low for the Time Lady to hear. “We're ready now.” She came back to the desk, holding her gun. “Obviously you're not suited to this technique, Counsellor. I've arranged for you to undergo some... treatment which we hope will make you a little more open to our questions.”

The man pulled the Counsellor to her feet. He began to drag her out of the room. Terrified now, she resisted. A lot. She began to shout as she struggled in his firm hold.

“Listen! You can't do this! You have no right! This is illegal! I'll have the High Council annihilate you! I'm a Time Lord of the highest rank! I'm a Prydonian scholar, research assistant to the President Borusa, a religious ambassador for the Gallifreyan Council and a trained psychomedic! You can't arrest me! I'm not a human!”

The man got her out of the room and started to tow her along the corridor.

“ Don't I even get a phone call?” she asked pitifully, before hanging her head, defeated. There was only one thing to do now, so she hoped for the privacy and quiet of the cell. She had to send a telepathic cry for help. To Him.

* * *

Tegan and Bernice were still in the shopping mall. Bernice had bought a leather jacket to go over her khaki shirt, which she was now proudly wearing, despite the unseasonable heat – she felt chilled to the bone since the Doctor’s parting remark. Tegan was carrying her old clothes in a Chanel bag and wearing a stylish grey trouser suit and blue silk blouse that Bernice had insisted on, telling her that being a decade or two out of date either way was neither retro nor cool, just sad. This way she had persuaded her out of her epileptic causing mini dress and into something Bernice could appreciate looking at. She and Bernice had happily linked arms and were going for tea in a sidewalk cafe just outside the mall. In a bookshop across the street, the man in the shades who had been following the Doctor was reading a copy of ‘A Brief History of Time’ and watching them. Bernice leant across the table, over her cup of tea.

“How are you finding 1996 Chicago?”

“Loving it.”

“Good. Now where's my – ” She began to search her person. “Bugger.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Cruk. I've left my flask in the TARDIS.”

“Your - ?”

“Hip flask? Whisky? Booze? You know? No point in having tea if you're not having it Irish.”

“I'm an Australian, Benny! Alcohol's mother's milk to most Aussie men!” She smiled over her tea. “D'you fancy going somewhere for a real drink?”

“Good idea.” Bernice then looked across the road. “But don't you think it's a good idea to get rid of our friend in the bookshop first?”

* * *

The Doctor sat on a park bench, reading a battered copy of ‘Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy’. He put it down - open and face down on the bench - and yawned luxuriously, stretching his arms above his head. He shut his eyes, then shook his head and opened them again, then rubbed them. He looked at his watch. He looked around the park and started digging in his satchel. While he was looking, a well-built jogger in red tracks came up to him and started jogging on the spot next to him.

“Nice day, bud.” He stood still and stared expectantly at the Doctor.

The Doctor’s head snapped up and he glared, hands still in his bag. “Is it? I don't think so. There's too much pollution, it's far too humid for this area of the planet and the temperature is sky-high, if you'll excuse the expression. I shouldn't really be wearing this jumper at all, but it's a keynote of my personality. Like my hat.” He tipped it at the agent disguised as a jogger. “I'm the Doctor, and this is - my friend, Billy, the satchel. It's nice to meet you.”

“Sure.”

“Do you have a name at all? David Harris Taylor, perhaps? Are you my contact from -the Consortium, by any chance? Or have you come to kill me?”

“Your choice,” the man said flatly. “You know the deal?”

“I'm very familiar with the deal. Do you know the deal?”

“I know the deal. You'll go to this address in DC and announce yourself as the delivery boy. They'll let you in. Your contact there will reveal to you the nature and location of the merchandise.”

“I'm sick of all this proprietorial nonsense! I already know the nature of the merchandise, I just need to know where it is and when's a safe time to pick it up and the job can be done! Why all this secrecy?” He waved the book at the jogger. “This isn't a spy novel, it's real life, and real people can't deal with all this pointless waiting! I'm sick of your boring UNIT/NID Consortium games! Do you hear me?”

“You're really desperate for the money, huh?”

“I just want to get it done! Give me the whereabouts of the merchandise and I can dispose of it now, right this instant, before your Group-Captain Gilmore and his friends even know I'm gone! Some people have things to do with their lives other than play James Bond!”

The jogger’s face twisted with rage and he slapped the Doctor around the face. The Doctor gazed at him, trying not to look astonished. Eventually he came up with a sort of surprised-cow look that made the jogger, who felt threatened without knowing why and responded in a way that made him feel in control, kick him in the stomach. The Doctor cried out and doubled over. The jogger dropped an envelope onto the bench beside the Doctor and jogged off. The Doctor sat up to look at the contents - an address and some additional instructions - and frowned. He put it into his satchel.

 

“Hmm. This part of the plan is not going exactly as intended, is it, Billy? Still. We'll muddle through. We always do. Now - on, to Washington! Come on!”

He stuffed the book into the bag, picked up his umbrella, pulled the satchel onto his shoulder and stood up, then frowned down at the bag.

“Don't complain. You're coming, and that's my last word on the matter!”

* * *

In the house in Chicago the Doctor had previously been in, the cigarette smoking man, or John, the well-manicured man, or Gilmore, the ‘Fat Man’ and two unknown men in black suits and shades with their guns clearly on show were sitting around a table. Smoke was coming up from an ashtray where four or five half-extinguished cigarettes had been left in front of ‘John’. It was quite dark, twilight outside and only the light from the landing shining through the gap in the door. ‘John’ lit a new cigarette before speaking.

“Obviously we have to deal with him. He's a security threat.”

And he can't be allowed to interfere with our operations,” added Gilmore. “He's had too free a rein in the past. He's too used to intervening where it isn't necessary. Lethbridge-Stewart should have exercised more control over him in the beginning.”

“You're right,” wheezed the ‘Fat Man.’ “The Doctor needs to be dealt with. But he has an important job to do. Can he be trusted?”

“No,” snapped Gilmore.

“Can he be controlled?”

“Of course. We have his daughter. The female Time Lord we have been interrogating in England. She is being transferred to the facilities in New York State as we speak. And if things get difficult with the Counsellor - well, there's always Lethbridge-Stewart.”

“Are you sure this is a viable plan?”

“I have no doubts, sir.”

“Make it clear to the Doctor that his daughter's... safety is at stake if he dares to betray us. Also... tell him that we have his Brigadier in custody. And, if all else fails...” He nodded meaningfully to Gilmore.

“I am aware of certain... vulnerabilities.”

“That is unacceptable,” ‘John’ protested, sounding unhappy and uncomfortable at what was being implied.

“You will not be involved with this aspect of the plan,” the ‘Fat Man’ reassured him coldly.

“I will not allow this to happen. Perhaps you'd like me to inform Geneva of your little... accident last year?”

Gilmore butted in to snap coldly, “I'll arrange Lethbridge-Stewart.”

* * *

Meanwhile, in Dulles airport, Washington, Turlough and the Doctor were leaving, escorted by Scully, having been escorted from the hospital to airport to plane in cuffs. As an act of faith, after the reasonable reassurance from both the Doctor and Turlough, she had agreed to remove the cuffs during the flight. Now, as they moved through the airport to the car parking lot to fetch Mulder’s car none of them spoke. Mulder had remained in Chicago with Ace, under Skinner’s orders. The Doctor had his fists jammed into his pockets. Turlough was wearing jeans which were far too big for him and held up by a belt done up very tight, a shirt, also too big, and the Doctor's cricket jumper. He was looking at Scully with some distaste, knowing in her handbag was her gun, which she was keeping a tight if discreet hold on. Scully was very matter-of-fact, walking between the two men, assuming an obviously police officer/FBI agent stance. There was the usual sound of buzzing people, which sounded exceptionally loud in Turlough’s confused, stressed ears. Just then the tannoy kicked in.

“This is the last call for flight VDL309 to Luton Airport, England. Anyone departing on flight VDL309, for Luton, England, should report to Gate 12 immediately.”

Suddenly the Doctor seemed to spring to life and bolted in the direction of the departures lounge. Turlough tried to pursue him but Scully caught his arm and launched after the Doctor herself, struggling with her gun as she ran. Turlough ran desperately after her. They saw the Doctor ahead of them as he reached Gate 12 as the stewardess was about to close it, and they watched as he ran past her and was grabbed. He looked deep into her eyes. Turlough, whose Trion hearing was acute – another reason he hated Earth and humans so much – heard the Doctor murmur almost hypnotically,

“You're expecting me. Hm?”

The stewardess let him go and allowed him past to board the plane. He hurried onto the plane without a backward glance. Scully and Turlough reached Gate 12 moments later. The stewardess had by now closed it and was about to leave. Through the window, Turlough watched the plane taxiing away, feeling confused, unhappy, abandoned even. He hated the feeling. He pointed out the plane taxiing away to Scully. She sighed exasperatedly and put her gun away, placing it back in her bag.

“Well! I wasn't expecting that,” she said.

“Neither was I,” Turlough sighed miserably.

* * *

Across the country, back in Chicago, Mulder and Ace were in Mulder's rental car, in a traffic jam. Mulder was driving, trying not to be distracted by the strangely dressed, hostile, armed young woman who sat beside him. Ace had her gun in her lap and was staring out of the window, looking vaguely annoyed. Mulder kept looking at her gun, although he was trying hard not to.

“Why does it make you nervous?”

Mulder was concentrating on the traffic, so it took him a moment to figure she was talking to him, “Huh?” he asked blankly.

“The gun. I'd put it away, but I like to be protected.”

“Okay,” he said numbly.

“You shouldn't be nervous around weapons. Especially when you carry one. It's dangerous.”

“What are you, some kind of samurai?”

“You could say that.”

There was a pause in the stilted conversation as Mulder grew more uncomfortable and figured out what he was expected to say. He peered out of the windscreen and tried to ignore her.

“I'm a Spacefleet trained soldier. I used to work as a mercenary for IMC, that's the Interplanetary Mining Corporation. I met the Doctor on Arcadia, and now I travel through time and space in his TARDIS with him and Benny.”

“But you are human, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So –”

“I'm from the future.”

Mulder looked at her nervously. She was looking at the gun in her lap.

“You don't believe me.”

“Uh...”

“Well done.”

“Huh?”

“It isn't true.”

“So you're not a trained soldier or a mercenary? You didn't work for this IMC?”

“No, that's all true,” Ace said nonchalantly. “But I'm from Perivale. 1987. I blew myself to Iceworld by making a chemistry experiment in my bedroom. I met the Doctor on a treasure hunt, I went with him, he used me, I left him, we met up again on Arcadia.”

“I thought he was gay!”

Now it was Ace’s turn to be confused. She scowled a little frown, “He is.” She paused, rewinding what she had just said in her head. “Oh. No, I didn't mean it like that! He, er - he made me do loads of stuff for his stupid plans, and he - he used bits of me that I didn't want to think about. He promised he wouldn't have any secrets from me but he still kept stuff back when it suited his plans. He treated me like a child and then he used me to cover his back. Then he blew up my lover. I got sick of him. I ran away.”

“And you went back to him?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because... because...” She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to admit it loud, but sighed and went on, “Because even after I'd been in the 25th century for five years, even though I'd done my training and worked for the IMC and everything...” This time there was a very long pause before her voice went very small. Mulder waited patiently. “He's all I know.”

Mulder looked down at his lap, giving her the privacy, realizing someone so tough doesn’t like to admit weakness, feelings, of any kind. There was honking behind him.

“Light's green,” Ace pointed out, looking up.

Mulder said suddenly, with a wicked grin, wanting to lighten the mood, she was scary enough as it was, without the introspection and depression, “I thought the TARDIS was all you knew?” He had, after all, been paying attention all day, lapping it all up, confusing and conflicting as it was.

He put the car in gear. Ace returned the smile. There was silence until the traffic jam made them stop again as Mulder needed to concentrate.

“So, uh - I guess we'd better find a motel.”

“Over my dead body,” threatened Ace, but she was still grinning, to show it was a joke, a dirty joke, nothing more.

Mulder blushed, not getting the irony, “No, no, I, uh - I meant one room each,” he stumbled out.

“Shame,” Ace said flatly.

Mulder looked across at her, a little nervous.

“I s'pose you're another one that doesn't go in for girls?”

“It's not quite... uh... no, I'm not... uh... you see, my sister...”

“I don't wanna know.”

“No! I didn't mean that! What it is, uh, is...”

“I said I don't want to know. Go.”

Mulder moved the car forward. There wasn't any traffic jam left.

“So, what do they drink in the 25th century?”

Ace grinned to herself, as if remembering a joke she had no wish to share, “I drink the same as I did in the 20th. Vodka and coke. You'd have to ask Benny for the full range.”

“Who's - ?”

Ace suddenly grabbed the handbrake; yelling at the top of her voice, “STOP!!!” Mulder, alarmed, pushed his foot to the break pedal and the car screeched to a halt as Bernice and Tegan collapsed over the bonnet, panting. “Don't you ever watch where you're going?” Ace snapped.

Mulder was panting, scared. The women had seemed to come from nowhere. Bernice ran round to the back of the car, holding Tegan's hand, pushed her in and then got in herself. They were both breathing very hard, Tegan looking very white. Ace looked behind her. She didn’t like what she saw at all and snapped, “There's your answer.” She turned to Bernice, showing more curiosity than concern, “Are you all right? What's going on?”

“Drive! Just drive!” Bernice got out, breathless and shaking. Mulder was just staring at her and Tegan in confusion. “Just fragging drive, will you!” Bernice found the breath to yell.

“Drive,” Ace instructed in a voice that brooked no argument.

Mulder drove.

 

* * *

The Counsellor came to – again! – to the murmur of low conversation and the drone of an engine and realized a sudden bump had awoken her. Air turbulence she realized moments later as she half-opened one eye and saw clouds, very close, up-front and the inside of clouds, clouds. She felt giddy, sick, a dry mouth and a blinding headache. Chloroform again. Crude but effective, and gave one this nasty dizzy, nauseous thump in the brain. She shifted, uncomfortable; she appeared to be in a seat that was titled backwards, handcuffed by one wrist to something. She twisted her head and experimented with her right eye again. The armrest, not a person. Well, that was good, wasn’t it? Sarah would know. He would know! As for her, she really, truly didn’t do this. What was going on? Whatever it was, if He wasn’t at the bottom of it, He would be soon. He’d got her message, hadn’t He? As long as the other one wasn’t involved, or worse, captured. She wasn’t fond of being kidnapped, interviewed, arrested, interrogated, whatever, but she didn’t want them to suffer the other one’s wrath. No human deserved that!

A female was bending over her, checking her vitals.

“Are you awake Counsellor?” she asked, not unkindly. The Counsellor opened her eyes and saw an African American air force officer.

“Yes,” she croaked. “Might I – please – have a glass of water?”

The woman looked worried and stood up, glancing at someone out of the Counsellor’s sight. Whoever it was nodded as the woman put a solicitous hand to her shoulder before nodding and walking away.

She turned her head back to the window and caught a few stars against the inky blackness. She was still in the northern hemisphere, at least. Hadn’t been unconscious that long then. The outside appeared to be getting lighter, red sun in front, like they were chasing a sunset, they were crossing the terminator, flying westwards. America, then.

“Am I being rendered?” she demanded huskily before gratefully guzzling down the water. She never got an answer, for once the water was gone the man she previously couldn’t see, also an American Air Force officer, shoved a cloth full of chloroform in her face. Everything went black. “Oh Doctor, hurry,” she thought as she drifting into the darkness of unnatural sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Later that night in Washington Turlough was sitting on Mulder's desk with the big I WANT TO BELIEVE poster behind him, swinging his legs. He would have found the poster funny if it hadn’t been for the fact that yet again, in human time and space, he was in custody, however benign it appeared and that the human holding him chose to call it ‘protective’ and much more importantly – the Doctor had run out on him without a word! Turlough watched Scully at her desk, on the telephone. She was playing with a hair slide that had fallen out of her hair as she talked, which Turlough decided meant she was unhappy about something, maybe even a little nervous. He hoped not afraid. He was dependant on this female human medic cop.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” she was saying. “Thanks Chuck. Yeah, that's fine - no, no, only one night.” She paused to laugh, listened and then went on, giggling a little, “Sure. See you soon.” 

“What?” Turlough demanded once she had hung up.

“I've arranged protective custody for you for the night.”

“Really? Why?”

“Well, in light of the circumstances... it seems best.” Turlough, however, thought she sounded a little doubtful about what she was saying.

“What do you mean?”

Scully got up, still playing with the slide, and sat on her desk facing him.

“I'm not sure yet who's working for whom, and if any of Mulder's conspiracy theories are even half right there's no telling who knows about you and... what you are.”

“You mean a homosexual?” spat out Turlough with bitter sarcasm, really, he still couldn’t believe the level of prejudice here, it hadn’t improved in the 15 years since he was last stranded on this Godforsaken planet. “Are you really that terrified for my safety?”

“Yes. There are certain... people... we know of... who might be... interested... in...”

“Can you hurry up a little? I haven't got all night!”

Scully sighed, “If we don't lock you up tonight, Turlough, there's no telling who will.”

“Oh, I see. We'd better get going then.”

They both made for the door. Scully took Turlough's elbow in her hand, pressing the hair slide into his arm. He coughed slightly and took it from her, then examined it out of curiosity. After a couple of seconds he frowned.

“Er, Agent Scully?”

“What?”

“How long have you been wearing this?”

“Uh... for the last week, pretty much. Why?”

He shows her the slide, turned upside down in his hand. The underside is covered in tiny wires. It was unmistakably bugged.

* * *

It was early morning in the UK. The Brigadier had just come back from an all school assembly to find his room perfectly as it was before he left. Almost. The place felt fundamentally wrong, violated, and the Brigadier knew immediately from years of experience and training that something was happening. He glanced out of the window. The hut was being watched: subtly, carefully, but being watched. His movements were being monitored. He hadn’t a clue why but he could bet even money it would be connected to the Doctor. Or perhaps Miss Smith and the Counsellor. If UNIT were involved he would have been informed, so that left one of those quasi-military/commercial outfits like Torchwood or one of the American semi-legal agencies such as NID or a US completely commercial one such as the Consortium that so often hampered US UNIT ops. The Brigadier left his lesson plans where they were and left.

* * *

Meanwhile, in was very late night in Chicago, or rather the very early hours of the morning. The Doctor was just outside the park, trying to flag down a taxi by the side of a busy road. It was not working. Three empty taxis sailed past, ignoring him, by which time he had got rather bored and started to pace up and down, muttering to himself in vague terms about the Consortium, Ace and the appalling cab services in the United States. He jammed his hands in his pockets and started to march across the park, head down, having decided to try the road on the other side of the park. After a short walk the lights from the cars and streetlights on the road began to fade, and, as the park being a good mile across, he discovered he was walking into deepening darkness. Soon he could tell whether he was walking on grass or a path only from what he could feel under his feet. The Doctor felt bitterly cold - so cold he had dug his jacket out of the satchel and pulled it about him. He had the feeling that someone was following him, but he gallantly ignored it.

A light flicked on behind him, casting an elongated shadow in front of the Doctor. He stopped. He turned. There was a young man, wearing a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and suede jacket, shining a torch into the Doctor's eyes. The Doctor covered his face with his hands.

“I thought there was someone there.”

“Er, yes, there is,” the Doctor replied, feeling now a trifle confused but in no way threatened. It was not another agent sent to intimidate him. “Who are you?” he demanded gently.

“My name's Tom. Tom Crusher. But uh - I thought you didn't usually give names?”

“What?”

“This kind of thing, you, uh - so what do you call yourself?”

“The Doctor, if you must know. Why are you interested?”

“Because - I, uh - Never mind.”

“I'm getting sick of this.” The Doctor was disgusted, the Consortium were now sending boys to do a man’s work.

“Huh?”

“Can't you wait until the morning, Tom Crusher? I've had enough for today.”

“Oh.”

“I mean enough! Your boss and all his associates are really beginning to bore me, and if there's been a change of plan well I'd like to at least come to it after a good night's sleep. Do you see?”

“Boss? No, you don't understand. I'm not a –”

“Oh aren't you!”

“NO!”

The Doctor frowned with regret. “I think we've had a slight misunderstanding. I'm the Doctor. Your name is Tom Crusher, is that right?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“Then it's nice to meet you Tom.”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you too, uh...”

“Doctor.”

“Doctor.” The was a pause as Tom ran all the Doctor had said through his brain. “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“What in hell were you really talking about?”

* * *

 

Tom took the Doctor to an all-night cafe where Tom drank coffee. The Doctor sat at the table, looking around, tapping his fingers on the top of his umbrella. Just then the waiter leant over the counter and asked the Doctor a question,

“Kind of herbal stuff?” He had an Italian accent.

“Mmm?” the Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“This, ah...”

“Tea. But I'll settle for hot chocolate. At a pinch.”

“Hold on.”

The waiter went through the shiny, plastic beads over the kitchen door and disappeared. There was the sound of banging on a door. There was then a shouted conversation in Italian, but the Doctor couldn’t catch the words, it was too far away. Eventually the waiter came down with an older woman in a pink candlewick dressing gown and curlers, swearing in Italian.

“Thanks, Mama.”

The waiter’s mother produced a pot of teabags from under the counter, “Tea here. Kettle here. Milk here. Make it yourself.”

She had banged each item on the counter as she names it. Then, with a snarl to her son, she went out again, muttering. The waiter opened the pot, looked quizzically at a teabag and started to tear it open. The Doctor was horrified.

“I'll make it!” the Doctor said hurriedly.

He started to prepare the tea. Tom, who had been staring at the Doctor over the rim of his coffee cup, continued to stare. He had become very quickly enamoured of this strange, small yet frightenly powerful man and his weird mission.

“So?” he asked.

“So I don't know where either of them is, and I'm beginning to wish I did. After all, a companion in need...”

“Is a companion indeed?”

“Is an Othering nuisance. Especially if they take it upon themselves to get killed while I'm looking the other way.”

“I see.”

“So what were you doing in the park?”

“I, uh... I'd rather not say.” He met the Doctor's eyes with a meaningful look. “So where did you leave this Benny?”

“Why?”

“Well, whenever I lost something my Mom would ask me where I last had it. It's a place to start.”

Just then the kettle boiled. The Doctor poured water into his cup, chewing his lip, then stirred absently.

“I hardly think Bernice is stupid enough to hang around a shopping mall until three-thirty in the morning. She's a sensible girl - woman, I should say. And she's plenty of places to go. I'm sure she's fine. I just hope she manages to stay out of trouble.”

* * *

In a motel room. Tegan and Bernice were snogging one another senseless and ripping at each other's clothes. Tegan fumbled for the catch of her bra, pulled it off before taking Bernice's off in one swift move. Then she pushed Bernice backwards so she was lying on the bed. A half-full bottle of whisky rolled off and smashed on the floor. Bernice turned her head.

“Bugger,” Benny muttered softly.

Tegan grinned, “Doesn't matter.” She started working on Bernice's jeans. But Bernice looked slightly hurt.

“That was good whisky, that was!”

By now Tegan had undone Bernice's fly and had one hand inside her jeans. Bernice quickly forgot about the whisky.

Ace picked up her glass of vodka and Coke and gently touched Mulder's arm. “I think it's time we left them to it, eh?” She paused, looking at him, his mouth slightly gaping. He nodded and allowed her manoeuvre him toward the door. “Besides, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. Outside.”

They walked out into the car park. It was now completely dark, but the air was still muggy and still hot: Ace imagined it was partly because of pollution and partly because of the heat coming off Bernice and Tegan. Mulder was pacing up and down, obviously trying to put something out of his mind.

“Mulder,” Ace called. He didn't respond. “Mulder!”

He looked up. He had jammed his hands into his pockets.

“I want you to do something for me.” 

He looked at her inquisitively. 

“Well - actually, it's for your boss. He asked me to ask you.”

“Skinner?”

“Is that his name? He wants you to follow the Doctor - my Doctor, that is, not the silly cricket bugger from the hospital, who with luck is safely under your partner's arrest by now.”

“Why does he want me to do that?”

“The Doctor's a dangerous man,” Ace said, her voice carrying an undertone of regret, “Very dangerous. Evil. And he's persuasive. He's got a knack of working out what people want and giving it to them - or, at least, promising it to them and waiting till they get killed. And if they don't get killed he just fobs them off. Believe me, I know this, I was with him a long time.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because that's what he did to me. He promised me everything - a new life, a home, adventure - everything I wanted. And just when I thought I'd got it he'd snatch it away. He used me. He just used me, again and again, and he expects us all to take it! And I'm not taking it anymore.”

“What is it you want me to do?” Mulder asked softly.

“Follow him. Find out all you can. Find out his plans. Then bring it back to me.”

“Shouldn't I give it straight to Skinner?”

“I'll pass it on to Skinner. You just get the information. Got it?”

* * *

On a commercial flight, somewhere over the Atlantic, going the opposite way to the hapless, helpless Counsellor and Warden of an Oxford College, a stewardess was walking down the aisle with a drinks trolley. She stopped by the Doctor.

“Tea? Coffee? Beer? Cola?”

“Thank you, no.”

The stewardess went to move on. Suddenly the Doctor grabbed her arm.

“May I help you, sir?” she asked with a false smile and a fake bright voice.

“Have you seen my friend?”

The stewardess regarded the blond man, scrutinizing him - he had a wild, almost manic glare in his eyes. She stared at him suspiciously.

 

“He appears as a boy of about sixteen or so, red-headed, wearing a school uniform. He can be quite rude sometimes, but he's extremely nice if only you'd be nice to him, mm? He might be a little travelsick? We boarded together. You remember.”

“I'm not sure I – ” she broke off, frowning as she realised something “Actually, sir, I'm not sure I remember you boarding this plane at all. With or without your friend.”

“His name's Turlough,” the Doctor babbled in mild desperation. “He has blue eyes and he's very thin - extremely thin, actually, he used to be almost emaciated but that's only because he starved himself at school. But he's very intelligent, even if his motivations are sometimes somewhat dubious.”

“I'm sure,” the stewardess placated, trying to release her arm..

“Have you seen him?”

“I... don't think so.

“Can you ask your colleagues for me?” She began to feel a bit confused and more than a little frightened by this intense man with the penetrating eyes. She tried again to get him to let go off her arm. He gazed up at her, appealing, “Please?” he said intensely.

Covering her concern she plastered another fake smile over her what-are-you-on expression and said reassuringly, “ Certainly, sir.”

“Thank you.”

He finally released her arm. She moved on, sighing with relief.

* * *

In Chicago. the Doctor’s older persona was continuing to explain to Tom over a rather chipped teacup. The waiter had gone somewhere and Tom was enthralled, as if listening to a horror story. The Doctor gulped his tea before continuing.

“UNIT was officially set up at the end of the 1960s, following several incidents involving hostile extraterrestrials. National and multi-national organizations already existed in parts of the world as a result of earlier alien hostilities and/or crash incidents. Because of the changing political climate and the IMF's tightening control on the UN's budget in the 1980s the NID Consortium grew out of US government organizations and multi-national investors, being 'grafted' onto UNIT's administrative structure and the US Military, whom I suspect of having dealt with alien incursions and gained access to alien technologies that they’ve kept from UNIT . However, the Consortium's main goal, as with any business, is primarily profit, and its connections to the US government and business as opposed to the UN make it doubly threatening to the ultimate security of Earth...”

“Yes, but what has all this got to do with us?” asked Tom

“I need proof.”

Tom looked at him quizzically.

“I need proof that this is really true - proof that the Consortium are working for their own interests, not Earth's, not even the US government's. I need to find proof that with the Consortium party to important decisions in the near future, Earth's relations with alien governments will head for disaster.”

“And once you've got it, what are you going to do with it?”

The Doctor's face darkened with some powerful emotion, scaring and repelling Tom as much as it attracted him – hooking him in. The Doctor narrowed his eyes and stared at Tom, frown lines springing up all over his face.

“I'm going to destroy it.”

Tom felt a shiver run down his spine, as if someone had walked over his grave.

* * *

Across the States, East and North from the Doctor, in Albany N.Y., was an old building that was known by some as the Dove Institute, but to others, it appeared to be an old, deserted high rise of the 1950s. In room 718 Dr Elizabeth Klaus pulled Sample 12B4 out of a canister of liquid nitrogen. She was wearing heavy-duty gloves. She closed the canister and put the sample - an alien foetus - on top of it. She flicked on a Dictaphone.

“October first, oh two hundred. Report on DX/HV hybrid foetus, Sample 12B4, terminated fifteen weeks gestation. Further tests have been authorized to determine genetic structure of foetus, and also reason for premature termination. Sample requires some preparation for testing, as it has been in cold storage for sixteen days.” She paused a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Note: Sample has responded well to cold storage. DX cells have been reported to have better resistance to extreme cold than those of other species. It is possible that DX subjects produce a substance similar to that which the Orlando team have been trying to synthesise for cryonics. Also note that DX harvest is imminent, and likewise we have been promised new, fresh DX male DNA from field operatives within the next 24 hours and thus the Dove team hopes to produce a pure DX sample within two months.” 

She carried the sample out of the storage room and into another unit for preparation. She left the sample and her Dictaphone there.

Some minutes later, a young man in a black suit, a gun holstered under his jacket, walked in to collect the Dictaphone. He carried it to an office, wound it back to the beginning of the tape, and pressed Play and listened intently,

“Note that subject DX8911, female, has arrived safely from Glasshouse custody and is being held in Institute custody. Due note has been made of previous escape attempts and DX8911 is being held under maximum security in the lower wards. Preliminary medical exam declared subject physically fit for surgery but mentally unstable. Intensive interrogation not advised.

“Harvest on DX8911 has been scheduled for October first, oh eight thirty. Note that authorization for surgery has been given, but all authorisation for anaesthesia has been withdrawn as DX subjects are known to react badly to some drugs. Also note that subject has continued to deny DX origin despite continued DX findings. Reason for this response unknown.”


	9. Chapter 9

The Doctor arrived at Brendon. It was now late evening - around seven thirty - and it was beginning to get dark. He was tired and confused, searching all day, seemingly in vain, for a Time Lord he didn't even know was off Gallifrey - shouldn't be off Gallifrey. He didn't really know where to start, and the Brigadier seemed like a good enough place. Unfortunately, his hut was empty and no one seemed to know where he was.

The Doctor had checked with the headmaster using his UNIT ID to get an immediate interview and then, the school doctor, the matron and several boys before wandering back to the hut, despondent. He found the Brigadier's ansaphone, with a message on it, and played it out of curiosity,

“Brigadier, this is Sarah. It - I - I'm at a payphone. I can't say where. Look they've got the Counsellor and I think they want me. Get out of there now. Okay? You've got to trust me, Brigadier... it's not safe. Fuck! Gotta go. Be safe.”

The Doctor listened to the clicks and three beeps before it began to rewind and breathed out, muttering something under his breath and glanced out of the window. There was a car full of men in dark glasses. He ducked out of the hut and snuck around the grounds.

He decided to go to Croydon, which was his last known address of Sarah Jane.

* * *

In the airport in Chicago, Mulder was watching the man Ace had identified as the Doctor. He had been right! This was the little guy in the hat from the gallery, and from what Ace has told him it seemed like his theories were correct as well, at least in part. The Doctor was walking towards the check-in desk with a young, blond stranger, who appeared to be acting like a bodyguard. Looking around, he was aware of three –Mulder guessed - Consortium heavies watching the Doctor and his companion. Slightly nervous, Mulder put one hand on his holster. The other went to his face: he scratched one ear, then pinched the bridge of his nose several times.

Meanwhile, Tom Crusher was also nervous. He didn't carry - or even own - a gun, and he wasn't in terribly good shape, but he was trying to look tough. He put one hand on the Doctor's shoulder, protectively, but the hand was shrugged away. The Doctor's face was like a thundercloud. Tom took to looking around the airport while he tried to roll the tension out of his shoulders.

He looked left, to a rank of phones, where a man in a dark suit and shades was hanging up. The man put one hand to his ear and seemed to speak, then opened his jacket. Tom stared – there was a flash of light reflected off metal, and Tom assumed the man was carrying a gun. And he was indeed right. He looked pointedly away, hoping he hadn't been seen, and caught sight of another man, near the check-in desk, also speaking into a concealed microphone. His hand caught the Doctor's shoulder again - to get his attention – and, panicked, he started to manoeuvre him back towards the exit. The Doctor said nothing, but didn't comply. Tom panicked some more, he needed the Doctor to listen, else how would he protect him? He looked behind him and saw Mulder's bizarre hand gestures, looked to the other exit and saw a woman in a black combat suit - Ace - assembling a large gun. Then he looked straight ahead. Another man was running towards him and the Doctor from the corner of his vision, drawing a gun. He looked back to the man at the phones, then the one at the check-in desk. They have both pulled guns and were making for Tom and the Doctor at a run. Tom looked to Mulder again. He too had pulled his gun and was running towards them. Tom understandably mistook him for a fourth threat and looked to Ace, who was aiming carefully. He tried to run, and in a panic, turned in a helpless circle. There seemed no way out. He pushed the Doctor, who fell to the ground in a great sprawl. Then he looked back towards the man at the phones and was shot between the eyes. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Even as Tom fell, Mulder was throwing himself on top of the Doctor and pushing him into the screaming crowd, despite his physical and verbal protests. Together, at a crouched run, they made it out of the airport and onto the taxi rank. They stood up, panting.

“Wherever you're going, I'm coming with you,” Mulder panted out breathlessly. If the Consortium wanted to kill this alien, he must be one of the good type Mulder had belatedly realized, despite Ace’s reservations.

* * *

Ace kicked Tom's body over, so it was face-up, and looked at him, very coldly. Then she squatted down next to him and touched his face almost tenderly. She had disassembled her gun.

“I watch his back,” she said softly, looking into his still opened, startled, eyes. She closed his eyes gently, then closed her own for a moment, as if in prayer. Not that Ace believed in much, if anyone asked her. A second later she put one hand to her ear, frowned, stood, and backed away from Tom as she heard over her radio.

“Wherever you're going, I'm coming with you.”

There was a short pause and a faint rustling sound before Ace heard the Doctor’s voice, bright and cheerful, despite it all – so typical of the little sod!

“Actually, you're going to Albany.”

There was another pause. Ace had reached the exit of the airport. She sat on the pavement outside, pressing one hand to the earpiece and the other to her other ear, shutting out outside noise as she concentrating on listening.

“Why? What's happening in Albany?”

“There's an Institute there. The Dove Institute. It's easy to find. Drive to Albany and find 12B4. 12B4, do you understand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say it!”

“12B...”

“Four! Twelve bee four! All right?”

“Okay, 12B4. But - drive to Albany? Can't I get a flight?”

The Doctor sounded irritated, “You'll be too conspicuous! Get in your car and drive! You do have a car, don't you?”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

“What about Ace?”

“What about Ace?”

“Well... what do I do with her?”

“Oh, I suppose she can dispose of herself quite satisfactorily. Oh, and Agent Mulder - get rid of that jacket.” 

“Why?”

Suddenly the Doctor’s voice sounded very close to the wire, “Hellllooo? Ace? Can you hear me? Good. I want you to stop playing silly games and grow up. There is too much at –”

At that point Ace cast the earpiece away from herself with a pout and ran into the airport. She identified one of the men who was involved in killing Tom Crusher and dragged him over to one side, forcing a small gun against his head.

“The Dove Institute. Albany. Tell me. Now.”

“Or?”

“Or I blow your head off. Start talking.”

“It's a generic research facility, not marked on any of the maps, but just outside Albany. We - they, the, uh, the scientists - they do testing and stuff, it's a harvest site too. They provide DNA for the MJ experiments in New Mexico and they're testing the new base pair - you hear about that? They helped develop some virus back in '90... Okay? It's a science base. No weapons or nothin', pretty low security. They took the new DX there too. I think they were gonna harvest her.”

Ace pushed the gun closer to his temple. “What's a DX?”

“I - I don't know exactly. They're a new non-HV group... well, I guess they're H, they look it, but they sure aren't V.” Ace pushed the gun again. “HVs are us. Human Earth, yeah? But the DX have two hearts, and there was some rumour around...”

“What rumour?”

“It's crazy. One guy told me they can... uh... not die when they die. They get a new body... something... I don't really know.”

“Yeah. Crazy.”

She jammed her knee into his groin, released him and walked away. He fell over, groaning, but Ace barely noticed. As she drove back to the motel she formulated a plan of her own.

When she arrived at the motel, Bernice and Tegan were asleep in one another's arms, both naked. Ace sighed. She'd hoped Tegan would be asleep and Bernice awake. She reached over to wake Bernice, gently, and let the woman disentangle herself from her partner's arms.

“Wha-is-it?” Bernice asked drowsily.

“Ssh. We've got to go.” She paused, staring at Benny, “I met the Doctor. He wants us to go to Albany - 'kay? We've got a rescue to do.”

“Rescue?” Bernice sighed. “Bugger. Crukkit. When?”

“Soon as possible.”

Bernice breathed deeply and reached for something to cover herself up with. Then she glanced at Ace, shrugged, and clambered out of bed to find her clothes. Tegan stirred and awoke, then saw Bernice, who was hurriedly dressing.

“Benny?” She blinked several times. “What's up? Where you going?”

“Gotta love you and leave you, I'm afraid. Stuff to do. Doctors to appease. You know,” Ace answered for her.

“What you talking about? I should come!”

“No.”

Bernice looked at Ace and then said brightly, mostly to annoy her than because she wanted Tegan anymore, “Yeah, why not?” She was pulling her shirt on over her jeans and bra as she spoke. Tegan struggled to sit up, then glared at Ace.

“D'you mind giving us some privacy?” Tegan demanded angrily of Ace.

Ace shrugged and walked out, leaving the door open. Bernice shut it before Tegan could get loud. Then she breathed out loudly.

“So what's going on then?” demanded Tegan, standing now, half-dressed, hands on her hips.

“Don't ask me,” Benny mumbled, looking for her socks under the bed. 

* * *

It was now five forty a.m., EST. The plane was preparing to land. Near the back, the Doctor was sitting with his knees curled up to his chest, the side of his face pressed against the window. He was tired. He felt drained, distressed and almost too angry to acknowledge - not to mention his intense guilt at what had happened to Tom. He felt completely responsible. That moment in the airport kept running through his mind; the gunshot; he and Tom hitting the floor at the same moment; a glimpse of the bloody exit wound. He didn’t notice the steward approach him.

“Sir?” The Doctor, lost in his own thoughts, didn't reply. “Sir?”

The Doctor looked up reluctantly.

“Could you put your safety belt on, please, sir? We're about to begin landing procedure.”

The Doctor gave the young human a fake beam. After all, the boy was only doing his job. “Oh, yes of course.” He unfolded himself from his rather cramped sitting position and fixed the seatbelt in place. Then he grinned at the steward. The steward nodded and moved away.

The Doctor went back to his own thoughts as the plane landed, then allowed himself to be ushered off in the herd of passengers at Dulles airport. He had no luggage to collect; the satchel was carry-on luggage, of course. He wandered out onto the taxi rank, got instantly into a cab and gave an address. Then he slumped back in the seat and refused to talk to the driver, that scene running again in his mind. They hit the floor at the same time. A glimpse of the exit wound.

Eventually they arrived at the ‘safehouse’. The Doctor didn't quite know how long the journey took, that scene playing and replaying in his mind. He was somewhere in the outskirts of Washington D.C., but where exactly he wasn't sure. A woman met him at the door - a Chicana maid, pretty, in her late thirties, deferential and kind to the Doctor but with a definite bite to her. He watched her as she cooked him scrambled eggs on toast, and watched the tension in her movements. She looked like she was repressing violence as she cooked.

“What is it?” the Doctor asked softly.

“Huh?” She looked up, surprised. She had been concentrating on the eggs.

“You seem upset.”

“My husband's gone again.” The statement was very brusque. The Doctor waited some time for her to go on, but she didn't elaborate. Eventually the Doctor decided to press her.

“What happened?” he asked again, softly as before.

“Oh, the usual,” she snapped, bitterly. “He says he's gonna get off the booze, he's gonna stop gambling, and then he comes home drunk three nights running. We got no money for the kids. We got no food, y'see, no diapers - I gotta steal from this place just so we can eat. Just bread, sometimes some milk for the baby. The boss doesn't really mind; helps out where he can. I wish he'd just come and –” She stopped abruptly. She didn't really mean what she'd been about to say. She'd surprised she was talking so frankly to a strange man.

“He hits you,” the Doctor said flatly, but with great understanding.

She stared at him in surprise. He shrugged.

The maid was very bitter as she spoke. “He hits me, he says! He hits me! I never saw a guy so - well, that's a lie, but only in the ring. Mother of God! And he wonders why I throw him out! Time after time... but I guess I'm weak. I always forget how bad it is and let him come back.”

“That's not weak.”

“Whadda you know?”

The Doctor looked at his feet and made a face. The maid frowned, then smiled and reached out one hand.

“Consuela.”

Taking her hand the Doctor replied, “Doctor.” He smiled back. They didn't shake hands; just stand there for a few moments, holding hands. Then Consuela broke away to cook. The eggs were ready. She served them on toast and ushered him through to another room. He sat and ate. With his mouth full he asked, “You have children, then.”

“Seven.” 

The Doctor nearly choked, “But you look so young!”

“So do you. But I'm willing to bet you ain't so young.” She paused, looking at the Doctor, who nodded, as if conceding a point. “Maria's almost seventeen. Married well - New York boy, living in Brooklyn, good kid. And Manuel... he's coming up on fifteen now. Doing well in school, not like me and my husband. He's gonna be a doctor or something. You think they'll let him through - immigrant boy?”

“I don't see why not,” the Doctor said while chewing. “The world's getting liberal, you know. Even America. You never know - he might be head consultant in a Miami hospital by the age of thirty-five!” He beamed encouragingly, then swallowed his eggs. “What did you say your last name was?”

“What, you some high-up in Florida? You'd give my son a job?”

“Just make sure he works hard.”

“I do,” Consuela said with real conviction.

The Doctor smiled and took another mouthful. Consuela wandered out of the room. When she came back into the room his plate was clean and the room was empty but for a fat white envelope on the table. She opened it and stumbled into a chair.

“Mary, mother of God...”

She pulled the flap back over the opening and turned it over. Scrawled on the front in pink crayon was the legend: DON'T SHOW THIS TO YOUR HUSBAND IT IS FOR YOU AND THE CHILDREN. She smiled.

* * *

 

It didn’t take Turlough long to escape his ‘protective custody’ once Agent Scully fell asleep. It took him a long time to hustle, steal and pimp himself to get enough money to get himself a decent motel room. If he had to survive here by himself, he fully intended to live as comfortably as possible in this awful, damned planet in this most primitive and paranoid of culture at that. He had to get himself back to the UK as soon as possible if he couldn’t find the Doctor. But, from what he could gather from the overheard conversation Scully had with her partner a future incarnation of the Doctor was roaming about. If he couldn’t find his own, and he did want to? – he was desperately hurt by the Doctor’s abandoning of him – then he would find this future version. He’d have maybe centuries of guilt to play up to!

Turlough had also gathered that Scully and Mulder hadn’t a clue that these two very physically different men were, in fact, the same man. Turlough had no intention of telling them different, and no intention of being experimented on, which he suspected this ‘protective custody’ was going to lead to. Hence his escape as soon as possible. He was glad he’d taken lessons from the sixth former Fritton at Brendon in housebreaking and lock picking.

Turlough pulled out a card from the back pocket of his borrowed jeans and toyed with it for a few moments, looking at it thoughtfully, before picking up the phone by the bed and dialling Vecchio’s cell number.

 

* * *

Meanwhile, the Doctor came out of the tube station in Ealing, stepping out of the way as a group of rowdy, cheerful, probably very drunk, young men staggered towards him. It was raining. He looked at the directions Sarah Jane’s tenant had written down for him. She had moved to London, apparently, after inheriting her Aunt Lavinia’s estate.

A young woman in a wheelchair answered the door, explaining after the Doctor’s puzzled questioning, that she was called Natalie and was a student and Sarah Jane’s lodger. She told the Doctor Sarah Jane had gone to Oxford, to visit her girlfriend, Warden of Lady Julian College.

“The Counsellor?” asked the Doctor, his voice and eyebrows raising.

“Yes. She’s weird. Strange taste in dress, but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” the girl said acerbically, before slamming the door.

 

* * *

Fraser came to the door, sleep still in his eyes, Diefenbaker on his heels.

“Come on Fasier, we’re going to Washington.”

“We are?”

“Turlough needs us.”

“He does? Oh, that explains it all.”

“I’ll explain on the way. I told him he could trust Dana, even though I’m not sure. Whaddya think?”

“She’s your friend Ray.” By now he had gone into his apartment and was dressing hurriedly. Diefenbaker was whining and glaring at Ray, as if he knew he wouldn’t be able to go. “What time is our flight?”

“We’re not flying, it’s not safe. We might be watched.”

“By whom Ray?”

“I dunno. The aliens. The government agents who work with the aliens. The government agents who want to kill the aliens. I’m struggling with this Benny.”

“Me too Ray. Yes, I think, on the whole, we can trust your friend with the young gentleman. I think she wishes to protect him from these agents – and indeed, the other aliens, of whom you speak.”

 

* * *

 

The Doctor had fallen asleep on the bed in the safe house. It had been dark when he arrived; now it was early morning and weak sunlight was flooding through the barred window and over the bed. The Doctor's face looked peaceful and almost childlike in the pale light; his hat had been removed, his tie loosened and collar unbuttoned, and his shoes were placed neatly on the floor. There was a pillow under his head.

The cigarette smoking man had been watching him for some time.

The first breath the Doctor was aware of taking since he passed out was filled with smoke. Cigarette smoke. He coughed loudly and tried to sit up and his arm hit another arm. His head hit a chest. He lay down again. The man put his face very close to the Doctor's but just far enough away for his smile to be in focus. The Doctor squirmed.

“Good morning, Doctor.”

The Doctor sat up abruptly, pushing the man into a sitting position too. He pulled at his clothes and cleared his throat several times before he looked at the man in the face. Then he tried - and didn't quite succeed - to beam.

“Good morning! I take it is a morning, because after all the light suggests it's not very long since sunrise and it feels like a morning, that is, I've just woken up. But I imagine you've been up rather longer, as I'm sure I don't remember taking off my hat or my shoes before I went to sleep. So presumably someone's removed them, and presumably that someone is you. What are you doing here?”

“Yes, I removed your hat and shoes. I thought it might make you a little more comfortable.”

“Why?” demanded the Doctor furiously.

“What do you mean, why?” the man withdrew a little, seeming confused and hurt.

“Why did you remove my hat and shoes! Why did you feel the need to make me comfortable! What gives you that right!” the Doctor was still absolutely furious.

“You did,” the strange man said calmly, smiling.

“What?!”

The man still smiled, tenderly, like a lover. “You gave me the right. You did. It was a long time ago... for both of us... but I presume it still stands?”

“What still stands?” He stood up and shouted in the man’s face. “Nothing stands! Nothing at all stands! We've never made any kind of deal! We'd barely met before yesterday!” He grabbed his hat and jammed it on his head. “You do not have the right, do you hear me, I have never given you any right! To me, to Turlough, to the Brigadier... No one, do you hear me, no one deserves your attentions! Now leave me alone!”

He grabbed his shoes and stormed towards the door. The cigarette smoking man ran after him and caught his arm. The Doctor angrily pulled it away.

“A warning.”

The Doctor stared at him, his face a torrent of unleashed power.

“Watch your back.”

The Doctor pulled away from him, grabbed his umbrella and hurried out of the door.

* * *

The Doctor hurried down the corridor and into another bedroom, breathing so hard he was almost growling and shaking with anger. He pulled his shoes on. There was a tension and violence in his movements as he cast his umbrella aside and arranged his scarf and tie in front of the mirror. He adjusted his hat. Then he picked up his umbrella and stormed out of the room. As he reached the stairs, his eyes met the man's. He was leaning on the doorframe of the Doctor's room, smoking a cigarette.

“I hope it kills you,” the Doctor fumed.

He ran down the stairs. A guard with a large gun was waiting for him and ushered him into a little kitchen he had not seen before, following him in and standing guard. There were four Consortium operatives sitting at the table. One of them was the agent from the art gallery. Each of the operatives had a cup of coffee. The Doctor was not offered one. The guard shoved him into a chair and resumed guard duty inside the closed door.

“I expect you're all wondering why I called you here.” He stood dramatically. “And I'd like to thank you for taking this precious time out of your busy schedules - especially at this time of the morning - just to see an unknown like me perform. Not that I'm an unknown on all planets, of course. Oh no! I'm quite famous at the Psychic Circus, and I must say the reception I received on Terra Alpha was quite unprecedented. Oh yes, and then there was... But I digress. You're all busy people, so I shall commence without further delay. Does anyone have any spoons? Yes. Thank you.” He reached forward and grabbed the spoons off the table. There was another minute signal. An agent grabbed his arm from behind. He looks into his face. “Oh dear. A critic.”

The guard tossed him back into the chair. The Doctor sighed deeply and looked at the operatives.

“All right. What do you want?”

One of the operatives produced a rather fat envelope from his inside jacket pocket and slid it across the table to the Doctor, who caught it under his hat. Then he raised the hat very slowly and rested his chin on the heel of his hand to look at it almost reproachfully.

“Why do you always try to ply me with money?” he said with something like disappointment in his voice, but apparently to the envelope rather than the operatives.

“You'll find a set of instructions in that envelope, along with three thousand dollars. We don't care what you do with the money. But we'd like you to visit the place specified during the time window mentioned. And we'd like you to carry out those instructions. To the letter.”

“And what if I refuse?” the Doctor answered in a voice that greater threats than these mere jumped up monkeys in suits had ignored to their cost.

“Let's just say it... would not be in your interest.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

The guard grabbed his shoulder, forced his head up and jammed his gun against the Doctor's throat. The Doctor gasped. The operative who had been speaking leans across the table, grabbed his chin with one hand - hard - and pushed the other down the Doctor's tank top. The Doctor squirmed. Then he seemed to muster all the strength he had and project until his voice resonated around the little room, taking on an almost supernatural quality.

“Release me! Immediately!”

The operative froze, and slowly slid his hand out of the Doctor's jumper. He signalled for the guard to step back and then pulled away himself. He sat back down. The Doctor was breathing hard. The operative smiled.

“Relax, Doctor.” He paused for a sinister moment. “Call that... an incentive to carry out our requests. Yes?”

“I see.” The Doctor was livid, and not easily threatened.

“You may go.”

The Doctor breathed out. Then he mustered all the dignity he could and walked out of the room.

* * *

It was now around ten in the morning, EST. Vecchio and Fraser were waiting for Scully in the park with Turlough, both of them occasionally casting round for agents or operatives, both FIB, and Consortium. Turlough felt edgy and paranoid - he hadn't had much sleep, with his escape, he had a hard night of criminality to get money and reluctantly agreed, his tail-between-legs, return to Scully. Vecchio was tired and irritable. Fraser was, of course, a paragon of calm.

Vecchio checked the surroundings again, feeling for his gun as he did so. A small man sitting on a stone bench near the waterfall caught his eye - Vecchio instinctively dropped his, and then stared. He was reminded of the photo Scully showed him. He frowned and reached for Fraser's shoulder.

“Frasier –”

“What?”

“Do you recognize that –”

He pointed at the bench. It was now empty. Vecchio frowned. Fraser frowned too.

“Forget it. He's gone.”

Fraser didn't have time to say anything in reply, because Scully then arrived.

“Ray.” She looked towards Fraser. “Constable.” Seeing Turlough she asked, gently, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine thank you.”

“Good.” She breathed out in relief. “We'd better get going. I don't think it's very safe here - I've found a safe place for Turlough, and I guess the best place for you two is back in Chicago. I'll drive you to the airport if you like.”

“Thanks Dana, but we have a car. And I uh want to stick around here for a while.” She looked at him quizzically. “I think I saw one of the guys from that photo? I wanna get Fraser's opinion and if it's who I think it is we'll check him out. Okay?”

“Okay. I better get Turlough out of danger.”

“Yeah.” He turned to Turlough. “Take care, okay?”

“Most certainly.” He flapped his arms slightly. He said with genuine sincerity, “Thank you. I don't know what I would have done.”

“You're welcome,” Vecchio replied gently.

Turlough smiled at Fraser. Fraser smiled back. Then he and Scully left. Vecchio sat down on the edge of the fountain and sighed. Fraser hovered. Then he sat down next to Vecchio.

“So –”

Vecchio raised a hand, “Don't even start.”

* * *

The Doctor was sitting on a stone bench in the park, literally twiddling his thumbs as he watched the waterfall cascading onto the lily pads. There was no sign of a contact. The Doctor was starting to get impatient. After some time of waiting, the operative from the safe house and the gallery sat down next to him.

“Follow.”

He got up again, the Doctor following, muttering something under his breath about inefficient bureaucracies, into a deserted part of the park. Unsurprisingly, another man was waiting with a gun. The operative took yet another envelope out of his jacket and tossed it casually to the ground. The Doctor squatted to pick it up. The operative put his boot on the envelope.

“Careful,” the Doctor murmured absently, “you'll smudge it.”

“That is for you.”

He released the envelope. The Doctor picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and sighed. More money. Before he had a chance to get up, the operative grabbed his lapels and dragged him to his feet.

He was now holding the Doctor off the ground, inches from his face, “And this is for you, too. A special gift from me.”

He kissed the Doctor violently. The Doctor squirmed. Once it was over, the operative let him go and he dropped to the floor, on his bottom. He had dropped the envelope, which did indeed have a partial boot-print on it. The operative glared at him with utter contempt for a couple of seconds before walking away. The second man followed. The Doctor glared at the operative's back for a bit while scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he picked up the envelope, looked it over briefly, scowled, and tossed it into a nearby bush.

* * *

Vecchio watched as the Doctor came back the way he came, sat heavily down on the stone bench and sighed. He had a dirty white envelope in his hand and a satchel over his shoulder. He opened the satchel, reached in and pulled out a white paper bag, seemingly full of candies. He put one in his mouth. Vecchio looked to Fraser.

“Yes, that is the man from Agent Scully's photograph.”

Vecchio nodded. They watched in utter silence. The Doctor remained sitting where he was for a few moments, then got up and wandered towards the exit of the park. After leaving a decent interval, Vecchio and Fraser followed him.

* * *

The Counsellor woke up from yet another dose of the chloroform to find herself lying on her back on some kind of primitive bio-bed. Bright lights were shining down on her, not angled at her face but lower, at her torso and legs. A woman was leaning over her with a green facemask. She tried to move, but her legs were strapped in the kind of stirrups Americans used for gynaecological examination and childbirth, if US TV was to be believed. She yelled hoarsely.

“She’s awake doctor.”

“Prepare more chloroform.”

“Can’t I just give her a local and pain relief?”

“According to the experimentation on the male DXs, they cannot process our drugs.”

“She looks so human doctor, I can’t just...”

“The chloroform nurse.”

“What are you bloody doing?” the Counsellor demanded before another cloth was shoved in her face.  
* * *

In the Botanic Garden, Oxford, England, in the very early hours of the morning the Doctor was where the Counsellor had been abducted. The Doctor was in almost exactly the same place, smelling some of the roses she hadn't pick. He was tapped on the shoulder.

He span around, fist shoved into his pockets as he did so, to face three men in black suits and sunglasses, despite the early hour, with terribly unsubtle guns.

“Ah.”

* * *

The Doctor arrived at an unmarked double door, set in a blank wall. He checked the address on the envelope, looked at the number above the door and the street name on the wall a couple of yards away, and took a deep breath. Then he opened the door and went inside.

He was surprised to find himself in a gym. It was full of men, of various ages and descriptions but all wearing identical white T-shirts and black sweats, working on the equipment or standing around in small groups. There was a pungent smell of cheap beer and the generic human male odour - so much that the Doctor took half a step backwards as he closed the door. He looked about him, uncertain.

“Hey, the delivery boy's here!”

The Doctor looked in the direction of the voice. Its owner - huge and black and in extremely good shape - was walking towards him with a grin on his face. From the other side of the room came the operative from the gallery, the safe house and the park. There was general laughter. Someone else, sweaty, and with an elaborate tattoo on his jaw and neck - someone he was sure he'd seen before, but couldn't remember where - came of one off the machines and put a hand on his shoulder.

The Doctor looked around for help.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: this chapter contains graphic descriptions of a serious sexual assault on the Doctor. I was tempted to delete it, but it was well written in the stage directions of the original script, with randomling brilliantly adding emotional detail I just changed the tenses and the odd word. I didn't feel up to going over it so a second time, so minor warning, comes for any typos or spelling and grammar mistakes. Also, these assaults are the very cause of the temporal trap the Doctor finds himself in Summer in San Francisco and his raison d'etre for Winter in New York, coming at some point.
> 
> Another warning: one use of the n-word by a nasty racist, sexist character.

Ace, with Bernice and Tegan in tow, had arrived in Albany hours before Mulder. The Australian’s whining was really getting on her nerves, and Bernice was no help. It was like being with a couple of undisciplined children, insisting on stopping for food, the bathroom and at a drug store to get a refill for Benny’s hipflask once Ace had finally got them in the hire car in the first instance.

Still here they were, parked up some distance for the Consortium facility that Ace had already the directions to from Skinner, she really hadn’t needed to bug Mulder. Helpfully, unbeknown to the Doctor, she had planted a second bug, so knew full well the geek boy from Boredom Ville was on his way here soon, having driven all night, stopping for food and the bathroom and to phone his partner, the cute redhead with the attitude problem.

“Stay here,” she instructed, getting out of the car, checking for her infrared goggles and weaponry before she slammed the door.

“Where’d she get off, bossing us about like that? Who’d she think she is, the Doctor?”

Tegan was getting really loud again and Ace had that scary warrior persona that was intent on what was obviously whatever plan the Doctor had hatched, so Bernice silenced the Australian with a kiss. She took a swing from her hip flask and kissed her again, sharing brandy. Tegan sighed softly and happily returned the kiss, pushing her hands up Benny’s top.

* * *

Sometimes it would be nice to make ‘friends’ so easily, Ace thought, but had had learnt long ago to her cost years ago it was better not to. You wouldn’t get hurt then.

These Consortium bastards, she knew, would lead to all kind of alien/human tech and bio-soldiers in the next century, but some DNA they were just not meant to play with. That was her mission. She skulked out the perimeter, assessing weaknesses in their security. They had fronted as an ordinary business – a forensic lab, a drug company and an abortion clinic all were supposedly located in the 1950s high rise business block, apart half a mile from the rest of the business park here on the outskirts of Albany, but now it was an ‘abandoned’ building, the ‘businesses’ moved elsewhere.

* * *

“What’s that?” hissed Tegan, lying awkwardly on top of Benny on the back seat. She felt rather than saw something about the private ambulance that had gone past them and was now drawing up to the security gate of the car park of the complex.

“Wha- what?” Bernice said, watching as Tegan hurriedly rearranged he clothes for modesty and climbed out of the hire car. She hastily followed her.

“What’s going on?” she hissed, following Tegan.

Tegan put up her hand for silence and slipped through a side gate with some Hispanic and black women who may have been cleaners. She watched, confused, as a bald man, head hung low, was escorted out of the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a blanket.

“Nothing,” Tegan said, confused, after she had watched him taken inside. “I thought – doesn’t matter! Come on Benny, we’d better get back, I wouldn’t put it past that Ace to drive off without us. She doesn’t seem like a companion of the Doctor, and I’ve met a few. Did I tell you that time we met all of him?”

“Yes,” sighed Bernice, who, having known Tegan for just over 24 hours, had heard of the story of the Gallifreyan death zone three times already, as well as hints of meeting her Doctor in her future – but, ‘I’ve not travelled with him for about four years without learning you don’t play about with future knowledge and that, or else – zap!’

 

* * *

Ace wasn’t quite sure yet what exactly she was looking for as she skulked through the clinic on the lower floors. She ducked back around a corner as she heard the squeaky wheels of a trolley approach, with the sound also of footsteps and murmured conversation. This was weird, this abortion clinic was supposed to have been closed down years ago.

“That was hell,” she heard a woman say, with a Texan drawl

“Get a sense of clinical detachment,” another woman with a slight German accent snapped. “It is not human.”

“Do you mind!” a third woman snapped in crisp English educated tones. “I am not an it, I’m female, I’m quite evidently a woman else why did you do what you did?”

“Shut up!” a male voice growled, and Ace peeped around the corner to see the man pushing the woman on the trolley’s head back down. She was strapped to it and quite naked apart from the kind of open backed gown used for hospital procedures person space over – at least in Ace’s experience.

“She’s right, it ain’t right. She looks like us, and on the inside too, that was the easiest alien harvest I ever did.”

“Harvest! You make me sound like a field, how Abrahamic of you! It bloody hurt, you know? Explains those drugs they gave me in England, I suppose.”

“Shut up!” This time she was slapped.

“Oh, fuck you,” the woman muttered, eyes stinging with tears.

Discreetly Ace followed them. The German woman appeared to lecturing the young Texan on the differences between the DX range of alien scum and humanity. Even if Ace hadn’t already been briefed on the DX classification, she would have got what this woman was by the little biology lesson. Was this the DNA she had come to collect? A Time Lady in distress. Or a mere coincidence, the alien that toe-rag she’s threatened in the airport had told her about. She continued to follow.

* * *

The Doctor had been carried over, protesting loudly, to one side of the gym by the huge black man and the tattooed guy. The operative the Doctor already knew had followed them, and they had been joined by a creepy-looking white MIB who was standing over the Doctor and leering. He was wearing the standard crisp black suit, but the shades had been discarded. It flicked into the Doctor's mind that his dress suggested whatever was going to happen had been authorized - and so couldn't be too bad.

He was wrong.

The black guy let him drop and signalled the tattooed man - someone from Chicago, the Doctor thought - to let him go too. The Doctor stumbled slightly but managed not to fall. The black man threw his satchel to one side and gently removed his hat, then tied a knot into the middle of the scarf. The Doctor, now beginning to panic, moved to speak - shout, rather - but the tattooed guy slammed one hand under his chin. His teeth ground together painfully.

“What are you doing!” he demanded with as much authority he could project with his voice muffled

The tattooed guy let go of his mouth long enough for it to fall open. The black guy jammed the knot into his mouth, pushed it as far back as it would go and tied the gag around the back of the Doctor's head. The Doctor continued to struggle in vain as he was lifted to the top of an exercise vault. The black guy held him down. The operative stood at his feet and looked at his prone body coldly.

“Hold the bitch down, Duke.”

‘Duke’ - the black man - obliged. His hands felt like a pair of lumpy rocks on the Doctor's shoulders. The Doctor tried to kick the operative, but he was out of reach. He lashed out with his arms at the tattooed guy and the other man, but they too were further away than they seemed. Everyone around him laughed. Then the operative stopped. He had seen someone.

“Hey Mgenga, why dontcha join in? Plenty of room, hey kid?”

“Uh... no thanks, Mr Capey, I, uh, I got things to do.”

Mgenga was a young, black man, the Doctor imagined no more than twenty-five. He looked nervous and shy. He was also wearing a white tee and black sweats, with a gym bag slung over his shoulder; he had been making for the fire door.

“Well come along and watch then. It's just a little harmless fun - man stuff, y'know? No one's gonna get hurt. Oh, and call me Red... Joel.”

Joel Mgenga hovered. He was completely unsure what to do. The Doctor tried to send out a silent plea, but Mgenga, confused and guilty, refused to meet his eyes. The operative and the tattooed guy then moved closer to the Doctor, pinning down his arms and legs. The Doctor squirmed.

“What...” Mgenga swallowed hard. “What you doing?”

“Just teachin' the little alien bitch a lesson.”

Mgenga looked at the Doctor and completely failed to understand the situation.

“Do ya good to watch. Help ya... fit in, huh? You wanna see? Boy?”

Mgenga was utterly perplexed, he hadn’t a clue what the other men had planned, “Yeah... maybe.” He decided to remain.

Capey laughed and slid his hands up the Doctor's legs and torso, feeling his chin roughly, then started to undo his tie. The Doctor resisted urgently, but it wasn't much use. The tie came off. With Duke holding his head, Capey and the two others took off first the Doctor's jacket, then his jumper. They were thrown to one side. The Doctor kept trying and failing to catch Mgenga's eye - and meanwhile Mgenga was staring on in horrified fascination as Capey undid the Doctor's shirt. Slowly. The Doctor kept on squirming and fighting in desperation.

“Malvern, you want first shot at this?”

“Your catch,” answered Malvern, his voice slimy. “You get first pickings, surely?”

“You sure? I'm feeling generous.” Malvern broke into a knifey grin. Capey smiled magnanimously. “Taylor? You up for it?”

“Sure. Sure. But after you.”

Malvern was the suited man, and Taylor was the one with the tattoo. The Doctor tried to kick out again, and Duke punched him in the kneecap. He growled, deep in his throat, which hurt. His breathing was becoming panicked. When his nose got too small for the amount of air he needed, he found he couldn't even open his mouth enough to breathe through it. He panicked some more. Capey had finished opening his shirt and was running his hands up and down his naked torso without having taken the shirt off. The Doctor was sweating. Capey was grinning. Then he slid his hands all the way down the Doctor's body and into the waistband of his trousers. He undid the Doctor's fly. Then he pushed the Doctor's braces off his shoulders and took his trousers and boxers down in one movement, leaving the Doctor's modesty exposed.

The Doctor began to shake. He looked to Mgenga, who was staring at Capey. Capey had spat on his hand and reached for the Doctor's genitalia, then started to rub gently. The Doctor was fighting not to respond, but it was overwhelmingly a biological function and despite his fear he stiffened - after some coaxing - in Capey's moist hand. Capey began to masturbate the Doctor, first gently and then with some vehemence, until the Doctor is screwing up his face in the fight between horror and arousal. The other men stroked his body and caressed him, trying to evoke the same primal response, and the Doctor shuddered. The battle took a long time to play out. The Doctor writhed on the vault, held down by the three burly men, trembling, wanting to cry out. The knot in his mouth served as an aid - he bit down on it, trying to fight his own physical response. But it was a futile battle. He was rocked by an unwilling orgasm, intensified after having been held back for so long, and a scream rasped in the back of his throat, painfully unarticulated.

Capey grinned. He produced a small glass sample bottle, scraped in some semen, stoppers it and handed it to someone behind him, a woman the Doctor realized, horrified. She exited through the fire door. Capey then put his hand on the Doctor's belly and rubbed the rest of his semen onto it.

The Doctor's shirt was removed. Duke removed the gag and the Doctor took the opportunity to howl, long and loud. Then Malvern climbed on top of him, straddled him, crushing his chest, and forced his penis into the Doctor's open mouth.

Mgenga plastered one hand over his mouth and ran out of the room via the fire door. As it swung shut behind him he heard Capey's brash laugh and the words, “Dirty nigger shit.” But he hardly noticed.

 

* * *

 

The Counsellor swallowed a scream as the door hinges burnt away and the door was kicked in. She had only been back in her tiny cell – barely a cupboard with a small camp bed and a jug of water and glass on the floor. Fortunately her clothes were on the bed where she had left them, in point of fact, made to remove them at gunpoint, before being strapped to the gurney and wheeled into that hell. She would have hoped that at the very least the unpleasant painful procedure would have removed some of the cramps she had been experiencing since the injection in her abdomen prior to the interrogation. It felt a lifetime ago, although with her time senses, she knew it was not yet 48 hours.

She pulled up her skirt and stared at the creature in the doorway – a short, strong stocky woman with a high ponytail wearing IMC Elite Trooper body armour from circa 2460 covered with a long, cream duster coat from circa 1985 and carrying a trooper field gun.

“Hello, I’m the Counsellor. I haven’t the foggiest whom on Earth you are but I’m assuming you’ve been sent by the Doctor, h’m?” She pulled on her waistcoat without undoing the buttons and roughly knotted the silk cravat.

“I’m Ace. And I don’t do the Doctor’s stuff, I’m here for my own reasons. But you looked like you needed help.”

“I most certainly do. Woo...” the Counsellor suddenly felt very wobbly and sank to the bed. Ace checked the door.

“I reckon we need to get out of here. You okay to walk?”

“With a little help, m’dear. With alacrity, I suggest.” She shrugged on her jacket and balled her stripped stockings and shoved them, along with her dainty Mary Jane shoes, into an apparently tiny pocket.

“How d’ya – oh, never mind!”

* * *

Mgenga ran out of the gym and onto a busy street, panting. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to leave the Consortium - but there weren't many ways to leave the Consortium, and most of them involved coffins. He felt tired, and incredibly young. He wanted to help the man in the gym, but he just didn't know how.

Two seconds later, he walked into a tall red thing.

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

“No, I'm sorry. I –” He then saw Vecchio, who had marched over to see what the fuss was about, and he picked up their body language. “You two cops?”

“Who wants to know?”

“The gym. Someone's in trouble. The gym.” He pointed. Vecchio was already drawing his gun. “Go now.”

Vecchio ran, Fraser followed. Mgenga dropped his bag and fell into a sitting position on the sidewalk, shaking. Then he broke into sobs.

* * *

The Counsellor was very docile, unlike argumentative Tegan or bolshie Benny, or even that geek boy Mulder. And she was especially unlike the Doctor, content to let Ace formulate the plan, and follow silently. Waiting always for Ace’s lead they snuck out of the building together. She was, however, very reminiscent of the Doctor in lots of small irritating and endearing ways – body language and rhythms of speech especially. The only problem was the increasing wobbliness and the growing discomfort in her belly. Ace could tell her stomach hurt the way she kept holding her lower abdomen and was trying not to double over as she walked, bare foot and uncomplaining through corridors as Ace tried to find an unmanned exit. She could shoot or render unconscious any agent she chose, but she didn’t want to draw attention to them. She had the feeling that the Counsellor was not part of the Doctor’s plan. The Doctor definitely had spoken of material, probably frozen, maybe in test tubes or canisters. She was sure, if the Doctor, with all his secrets, would have told her in advance if he expected her to rescue a young Gallifreyan. Young! This woman could be older than the Doctor for all she knew. Could be him mother, might explain the similarities! Besides, when she did speak of the Doctor, in hushed grateful whispers, it appeared that she was expecting that younger one, the tosser in the cricket gear.

* * *

 

The Doctor had been turned over onto his front, still struggling, screaming and trying to cough Malvern's cum out of his throat. Behind him, he knew Capey was preparing to rape him. There wasn't much movement he could make with the three huge men holding him down - and a small crowd had gathered, jeering, laughing and handing around cans of warm beer. The smell of booze and sweat - and now semen - was strong in the air. The Doctor managed to spit the cum out of his mouth, but couldn't stop choking. His voice was raw from screaming. He felt as if he couldn't breathe.

Slowly, he became aware of a rhythmic banging sound. At first he thought the crowd had started stamping to cheer Capey on. Then he realized that someone was trying to knock the fire door in. A second later it swung open and Vecchio staggered in. He straightened and pointed the gun in front of him.

“Okay, everybody freeze!”

There was general murmuring. The momentum of the scenario seemed to have been lost, and the Doctor could resign himself to panting. Fraser was behind Vecchio, looking like silent hired muscle. There was a gunshot. The Doctor looked in its direction to see someone drawing their hand away from a gym bag in shock and fear.

“Let him go.”

No one moved, all seemed transfixed by the gun, his badge, which Vecchio had flashed, and the tall, red Canadian officer. The murmuring died away, leaving a tense silence. The Doctor began to cough again. Vecchio straightened his aim, fixing the gun directly on Capey.

“I said, let him go.”

The Doctor heard Capey's footsteps going away from him, and two pairs of hands released him. His body relaxed slightly. But there was still one pair of hands on him. The Doctor watched Vecchio train the gun on Duke, pointing it directly at his face. At fairly close range. The Doctor screwed his eyes tight shut, hoping there would be no bloodshed on his account today.

There was a moment of tension.

“Fun's over, Duke,” Capey said casually.

Duke released the Doctor and took a few steps backwards. Fraser came forward and lifted the Doctor off the vault. As soon as he was in the air, safe, the Doctor relaxed completely, and unconsciousness claimed him.

When he woke up, he was in the back of a car, his head in Fraser's lap, wrapped in a rough blanket. He craned his neck, trying to sit up, but he was worn out. Vecchio was driving, his face set in concentration. The Doctor sighed and relaxed.

“Where are we going?” the Doctor asked of his rescuers.

His voice was raw, his throat sore, and he tried to produce some saliva. The inside of his mouth still tasted of Malvern's semen. Suddenly the Doctor gagged. He could still smell the beer and sweat and the threat of blood behind the lining of his mouth, so strong it was almost a taste. He realized he was shaking. His eyes were prickling too. He blinked several times. Then he let his eyes stay closed.

He drifted in and out of consciousness during the car journey, occasionally aware of Fraser stroking his hair or Vecchio saying something he couldn't quite make out. His senses were dulled, as if worn out by overwork. The rough, soft blanket over the top of his naked body and the plastic seat beneath him seem the only real things in the universe for a while. The gentle vibrations of the car were intoxicating, and the Doctor treated them as an anaesthetic, allowing the feelings of exhaustion to wash over him, pushing away the wooden block in his throat and the needles behind his eyelids.

He was next fully conscious in a bed. It was light. He was no longer naked - someone had dressed him in satin pyjamas which were slightly too small and tucked him up in bed with a stuffed bear. He thought the room was empty. He decided to make acquaintance with the bear.

“Hello, what's your name?”

“So you're awake.”

Scully came into the room and smiled weakly. She was holding a cup of something hot, which she put on the nightstand in order to sit him up.

“Hot chocolate. His name's Dickens, by the way.”

“Hello Dickens,” the Doctor said with a smile, shaking the bear’s paw.

“And I'm Dana Scully.”

“So you are.”

She handed him the cup. He took a sip and put it back down, then forced a smile. Scully smiled back, gently.

 

* * *

 

“Did you kill him?” asked the Counsellor, as she and Ace skirted around the wild, untended grounds, ducking behind bushes to give the Counsellor time to get her breath back. The discomfort in her abdomen was growing. She had explained to Ace that she had undergone – fully conscious - some form of gynaecological procedure to removed her ova. She estimated the drugs she had been given in Britain immediately after her capture had been those used by doctors to treat women with IVF – i.e., to hasten and increase ovulation, hence the pain. Ace had commented on how she thought Time Lords were infertile, but apparently it was much more complex that that, the process by which Gallifreyans became Time Lords – immune to the Time Winds of the Vortex and capable of regeneration – had caused massive genetic instability, and yes, she estimated that millennia ago the first Time Lords were probably completely infertile. But if it was against the law to have a womb baby, then it must be possible? That was logical, wasn’t it? Ace had just muttered that it was bound to be over-complicated and high-falluted, it being Time Lord reproduction!

Now, however, she looked at the Counsellor, following her question concerning the guard. It carried no censure, unlike the Doctor, merely curiosity.

“No,” she answered. “Not dead. Just stunned.”

“Shame. That bastard had wandering hands,” the Counsellor replied mildly.

Ace stared.

 

* * *

The Doctor was in a white towelling dressing-gown and his hair was wet. He was seated on Scully's sofa. Vecchio and Fraser were standing awkwardly near her door. Scully was clearing up. Turlough was leaning on a wall, picking his nails. He kept staring at the Doctor, confused. Then he smiled. The Doctor looked at him.

“Turlough –”

“Yes, Doctor?” Turlough said dryly. He needed this one to like him; he had to get off this god forsaken planet as quickly as possible, now his own had obviously abandoned him. He supposed he could get used to this one, it was the same man inside, after all.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Turlough didn't say anything, but dropped his gaze. The Doctor, however, kept looking at Turlough, trying and failing to smile. In fact it looked more like he was about to burst into tears. Turlough observed that he had been looking like that for the past two hours; but that wasn't very surprising. Turlough fidgeted, feeling awkward both by his own past memories and his uncertainty at how to react to a future incarnation of the Doctor but knowing he desperately needed him - especially considering how he felt about his Doctor at the moment.

“C'mere,” the Doctor mumbled.

Turlough wandered over, trying to look nonchalant. Then he hovered nervously behind the sofa, wondering what the Doctor wanted of him. He leant on the back of the sofa.

“I want you to do something for me.” 

“What's that?”

“You have to go to the airport,” the Doctor got out, slightly desperately. “You have to get to Albany - you have to find proof. You have to find the proof.”

Turlough frowned. “Proof of what?”

“12B4, 12B4. In Albany. 12B4,” whispered the Doctor, still desperate.

But what is 12B4?” Turlough whispered back, coming to sit on the sofa and awkwardly put one arm around the Doctor.

“It's an alien foetus,” the Doctor had dropped his voice to a faint whisper, trusting only Turlough, and certainly not the FBI agent. “A half Gallifreyan foetus.” He lowered his voice even more, “You'll find it on the seventh floor. Room 718. It's the third canister. Get me my satchel.” 

Turlough complied without any fuss. The Doctor searched through his bag for some time then finally produced a wallet. He handed it to Turlough. It contained three credit cards - a Mastercard, an American Express card and a Gold card - and travellers cheques to the value of almost one thousand dollars. Turlough gasped, his Doctor was never so prepared with the correct currency, let alone at such a comfortable level.

“You'll find the cards have unlimited credit. I don't care how much you spend, but get me that evidence.”

“Certainly,” Turlough smiled.

On the other side of the room, Vecchio and Fraser were making motions to go. They were trying to catch Scully's eye. Eventually she noticed.

“Are you going?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Yes we are. Detective Vecchio and I have work to do back in Chicago. I'm sure the Doctor will be safe with you.”

“You can trust me.”

Turlough leapt off the sofa and ran towards the door still carrying the Doctor's wallet. Vecchio smiled at him.

“Whatcha got there kid?”

Turlough looked at the wallet, smiling, and said nothing.

“Bye,” Vecchio said.

“Have a safe flight,” Turlough offered back.

“You, you mean,” Vecchio said, smiling, “We have a long drive back thanks to your advice.”

“Actually Ray, that was Agent Dr. Scully’s advice.”

Turlough raised one eyebrow and Vecchio smiled and rolled his eyes in Fraser’s direction then they left. Scully wandered away to do the washing-up. Turlough threw a glance at the Doctor, then slipped out of the door.

When Scully came back into the room, Turlough had gone and the Doctor was curled up in a foetal ball.

Again.

* * *

 

Some time later, deep in the night, Scully was at her computer, typing. The Doctor had curled up on the sofa and had, presumably, gone to sleep in the gentle light from the screen. She looked over to him, frowning. He had put on his clothes - all of them - and he was cuddling his umbrella like a teddy bear along with Dickens. Then she switched off the computer. She grabbed her purse from where it was slung over the back of her chair. As she went to the door the Doctor seemed to wake.

“Where are you going?”

“To the store. I need milk. And more coffee - Ray pretty much drank up my supply. You want anything?”

“No. Go in the morning. I don't want to be alone.”

“Come on, Doctor, I'll only be a half-hour. Nothing's going to happen.” She opened the door and made to leave.

“NO!” the Doctor yelled convulsively.

Scully took one last look at him and walked out of the door, shutting it gently behind her. The Doctor pulled the blanket around him and felt for Dickens the bear. The room was utterly dark. He wanted to turn some lights on, but he barely had the strength to get up.

He seemed to lie there, in the darkness, for hours. Every little sound added to his paranoia. Something jumped onto the bins outside, and the Doctor started. A cat screeched. He heard the sound of a car slowing outside; heavy footsteps which were, he rationalized, his imagination. Then the door opened. The Doctor breathed out. Scully was back.

A huge dark figure blotted out the light from the hallway.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapte contains descriptions of sexual intimidation and harrassment, as well as threat of sexual assault and physical violence.

The Doctor woke up in a small, airless grey cell not knowing where he was. The last time he had been conscious had been on a rather bare-looking military plane, and it was evening. He felt very groggy at the time and couldn't make out much of his surroundings, just feel the cold metal floor beneath, feel the bumps and vibrations of air pockets and hear the drone of the twin prop engines.

He was still groggy. And very dehydrated. And sick.

Before he could properly wake himself, the door opened with a long, agonising creak and a white man with a gun walked in. The Doctor beamed automatically, a self-defensive position, but the man didn't react. He was hauled to his feet and propelled out of the door, protesting. The man still didn't react. The Doctor was thrown into an elevator and the agent got in too.

“Good morning,” the Doctor tried out.

The guard looked at him, but said nothing.

“Oh, all right then.”

The elevator came to a stop. The man pushed him out, followed, and took him to an unmarked door. He knocked on it and then got back in the elevator. The Doctor was alone in the corridor when the door was opened.

By that foul man with the filthy chain smoking habit, the man from the Safe Houses in Chicago and Washington, the one who claimed some form of liaison or alliance. The Doctor suppressed a grimace but the man smiled warmly.

“Ah, Doctor.”

He was wearing no jacket, his tie was loose and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he was holding the end of a cigarette. He had a hip holster, but it was empty - the Doctor wondered if this was a gesture of goodwill or because the gun was already drawn. The Man gestured him inside, leaving a trail of foul smelling smoke in the air. The Doctor considered running for a moment, then complied. The door was shut, then locked. The Doctor went to the window, looked at the three hundred-foot drop, then started to glance around the room for ways out.

“I wouldn't bother, Doctor. You're far safer in here with me.”

“Even in the event of a fire?” the Doctor spat out rather acidly. There was a long pause. The Man absently stubbed out his cigarette and opened the packet on his desk, then cast around for a lighter. The Doctor stared at him malevolently. “Why am I here?”

The Man shrugged and answered nonchalantly, “Why is any of us here?” He looked at the Doctor levelly, then, surprisingly, broke into a rather ugly smile. “You always were touchy. Touchy and whimsical.” He gestured to a sofa at one side of the room, which the Doctor had not previously noticed. “ Please. Have a seat - join me. Have a drink if you like.” He caught the Doctor's hateful glare. “Or not, if you prefer.”

The Man walked over to the bar behind the sofa and poured himself a Scotch and soda. The Doctor kept staring at him, angry and tired and above all fed up with being misled. The Man met his gaze with no apparent emotion.

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“No thank you.” He stared at the Man again. It was becoming by the minute less powerful and more frightened. “What do you want of me?” He managed to get some assertiveness into his voice, but it was not as much as he wanted. He tried again. “What do you want?” This time it sounded as if he was pleading. As if he was at this Man's mercy. That was not how he meant it at all.

“Please, Doctor,” the Man said almost gently, “don't insult me by being frightened. You know I won't hurt you. I have never intended to hurt you.”

The Doctor took a breath to centre himself, and managing to get some anger back into his voice he spat out, “Why have you brought me here!”

“You know why.”

The Doctor went from his righteous fury to utter bemusement in a nanosecond, “What?”

The Man smiled, “You know why.”

“No I don't!” The Doctor was genuinely innocent of what on Earth the Man wanted - and exasperated. He slammed a fist onto the desk. “Why was I brought here against my will?”

“Believe me, Doctor, that wasn't under my order. The command came from higher up in our organization.”

“Gilmore.”

The Man continued, acting as if the Doctor hadn’t spoke. “However, since you're here, there's no reason why we shouldn't spend a little time together. Relive old times.”

As the Man spoke, he carried his Scotch and soda back to the sofa and sat down. His cigarette was in the other hand. He took a long, luxurious drag and watched the Doctor take several steps backwards, pulling his jacket around him.

“I don't understand.”

“What don't you understand?”

“But I don't understand,” the Doctor muttered more to himself than the Man. “How can it be - How could I ever - How is it –” He stopped, shuddering, then looked at the Man. He looked, quite frankly, terror-stricken. And when he spoke again he sounded, more than ever, like he was a helpless prisoner. “What do you want of me?”

“Nothing I can't reasonably be given.”

He got up, leaving his drink on the floor, and walked over to where the Doctor was seemingly having a minor panic attack. He stubbed out his cigarette as he passed the desk, then took the Doctor swiftly and skilfully into his arms. The Doctor was so surprised he almost responded - then his body went rigid. He was too terrified even to squirm. But he tried to be flippant about it nevertheless.

“Please,” he said breathlessly, “we hardly know each other!”

The man smiled and said, almost lovingly, “Oh shut up.”

He kissed the Doctor, not violently but passionately, and at the same time gently. The Doctor struggled until the Man pulled away, confused, and dropped his arms, staring with what seemed almost to look like hurt and rejection.

“What's wrong?”

“What's wrong! What's wrong!” the Doctor began to yell almost hysterically, continuing in one angry, frightened, passionate rant, “You drug me, drag me here, lock me up, treat me with no more respect than a lab rat or a prostitute and then you ask me what's wrong! Well I'll tell you what's wrong! I am a Time Lord! Do you hear me! I am not some diminutive human wisp of a thing who can be beaten about and manipulated! Do you hear me! I am not your victim! I refuse to be treated like this! You have no power over me, no power at all, I cannot be bribed or tortured into submission because I am a Time Lord and you do not know what we can do! Do you understand me! There is nothing I cannot –”

The Man slapped him once around the face, hard, and the Doctor fell silent. He stared back in utter shock, immobilized for a moment. The bastard then pulled the Doctor into his arms again, and they both breathed out at the same time. Almost by default, the Doctor half-collapsed against the nameless man, whose frail human mind seemed too strong, too closed to the Doctor to read. He was carried very carefully to the sofa. 

After a while, the Man seemed to notice that the Doctor was crying, and it crossed his mind to wonder whether or not the Doctor was aware of it. He stroked the Doctor's hair.

“What do you want of me?” the Doctor moaned almost pathetically. He felt helpless in this situation – several floor’s up, armed guards through out the building, weakened by whatever drug they had used to knock him out, and utterly confused by this Man’s advances and claims to a previous alliance of sorts. The Doctor assumed his future self would have far better taste, besides, this man worked for an evil consortium that used human and stranded aliens alike for profit. He needed proof, he needed help, they needed wiping out of time entirely, or they would interfer with the natural – mostly benign, sometimes good – future of humanity in the galaxy! What did this man want of him? Not, it seemed, access to information or his TARDIS, or even, he suspected, his DNA, unlike that awful moments in that gym in Washington.

 

* * *

 

The white haired man who had met the Doctor in Chicago and whom the Doctor had identified as ‘Gilmore’ but whom Mulder and Scully would recognize as ‘the Well-Manicured Man’ sat at a mahogany desk with his back to the window. He appeared to be in a city, somewhere very high in a building. Equally tall glass and steel buildings could be seen behind him, scraping the sky. He was on the phone, fiddling with a pen as he listened.

“Good,” he responded to his British UNIT subordinate. Throughout the world money spoke, and it had become more and more easy throughout the global recession of the eighties to recruit UNIT officers here and there to become the Consortium’s eyes and ears on the ground at non-terrestrial incursion sites.

And for other things, like now, for instance. The young corporal, so refreshingly upper crust and English on the phone, making Gilmore ache for home, reported how both the journalist woman Smith and the Brigadier had eluded him. However, the younger incarnation of the Doctor had been located, apprehended and rendered back the States. He should have landed in an old US Air base just outside Albany at least an hour ago. Access had also been gained to the Warden’s Lodge at Lady Julian’s in Oxford and one carved, double-door oak and mahogany Victorian wardrobe was also in transit, on route to New Mexico. So far no key had been located in the Lodge, or in Miss Smith’s house. It had been necessary to shot the dog computer thing so it had been unsalvageable for experimentation.

“Well, we have the female Time Lord in custody, so recovery of a key shouldn’t be too difficult,” Gilmore replied. “We now have both incarnations and his daughter in custody, so bait is no longer necessary. It is a shame about the year 5000 computer/robot, we could have moved computing and cybernetics forward for great profit – and of course benefit for mankind. I expect full reports Corporal. Faxed over by 1800hours EST.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi! Lust’s young dream, in the front. You drive Tegan!” Ace opened the back door and practically pulled Bernice out. She began refastening her shirt, glaring. Tegan climbed out the other side doing up her trousers and demanded,

“Who’s she?”

The Counsellor looked up drowsily, “At least I recognize you,” she muttered.

“Oh. Counsellor. Is that what he was trying to...?”

“Hey, Aussie!” Ace tossed the keys at Tegan. “Can we get a move on girls, we can do the reminisces somewhere else. They may notice at anytime...” Ace helped the Counsellor in the back and got in after her, putting a supporting arm across her shoulder.

“Where to?” Tegan demanded once all four women were safely in and buckled up.

“Why can’t I drive?” Bernice slurred.

“One, you’re pissed, two, this is my and Tegan’s era, we know how to make a car go, stupid!”

Tegan laughed. “Got a point there, Benny love. Where to then, Ace?”

“Find us a motel, near as poss, this one needs to crash and I gotta go back. Done your Doctor’s work, now I gotta do ours.”

 

* * *

 

The Man was now sitting on the sofa. He had finished his Scotch and soda and most of the packet of cigarettes. The Doctor had meanwhile become a paragon of paranoia, checking every possible place in the room for bugs. The Man smiled and took another drag on his cigarette, then dug in his pocket for a small electronic device. He pressed a button on it and then said calmly,

“If there were any espionage devices within sixty metres, this instrument would pick it up and set off an alarm. I activated it twice before you came in, just to make sure. I want privacy as much as you do.”

The Doctor was on his knees, pressing his hands into the carpet. He looked up and said absently, “Privacy?”

“Or don't you mind about that?”

The Doctor looked at him strangely, still bewildered by the entire turn of events in this room, with this man, who still persisted in this fiction of a past alliance. 

The Man went on, “I must say I've heard some unflattering stories about you, Doctor, but that wasn't one of the things that came up.”

The Doctor was still intent on distracting himself with his unnecessary bug hunt. “Mm?”

The Man put out his cigarette and walked over to the Doctor, knelt behind him, and began to gently massage his buttocks and the small of his back. The Doctor gasped and scuttled away very, very fast indeed. Then he curled up in a little ball by the window.

“I will be gentle. I know you've had a distressing time recently. I can tell by your mood. But honestly, Doctor, you have no reason to fear me. I will be gentle with you.”

The Doctor was horrified how his voice shook, “No.”

“I don't understand why you're resisting me, Doctor. Surely I haven't mistreated you? I was kind to you. I even helped you. I don't deserve to be rejected.”

The Doctor suddenly sat up, finding the strength and anger from within to growl back, “Don't you? Don't you? What about ten thousand Tzun, dead in those institutes, torn apart, made into your ‘merchandise’? Sentient beings!” The Doctor stood, bearing down on the Man, pointing a finger and shaking it, “What about sixty thousand human women abducted and ‘harvested’ - and for what? Abortive cloning experiments in a New Mexico dug-out? ‘Chromosomal testing’? Super-soldiers, killing machines, biological weapons... where will it all end? The end of the world?”

“You tell me. You're the Time Lord.” He went over to the Doctor, lighting another cigarette. He was now angry. “You're supposed to know everything - you know how to make good decisions. But I, as you keep reminding me, am just a human. Weak. Indecisive. Powerless. I don't know, when I choose what to do, whether it is right or wrong. I only do what I think is best. But how am I supposed to know?”

“You think mass cullings are ‘best’? You think executions are ‘best’? Best for whom? For the good of those you kill? I think not.”

The Man spat out through his teeth, “ For the good of Earth.”

“What do you know of Earth? How do you presume to decide the fate of a planet? You only think of your ‘organization’ - the Consortium. A business conglomerate. Good of Earth? Good of your pockets, I think.”

Very slowly and deliberately the Man took the Doctor's hand and stubbed the cigarette out on his palm. The Doctor yelped and jumped away, but the Man grabbed his arm. He tried to bring the burn up to his mouth to suck it, but the Man pressed the hand very firmly against his groin. The Doctor squirmed in alarm as the Man spoke coldly,

“I could have you killed, Doctor. But I'd rather not.”

“Will you let me go!”

“Aren't you enjoying this?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

“I think you're enjoying this very much.” He glared at the Doctor, then took off the Doctor's hat and cast it aside. The Doctor moved to grab it but his wrist was caught firm He was beginning to realize how helpless he truly was. The Man began to caress his wrist.

“Let go of me! Let go of me!” the Doctor yelled, less forcefully, beginning to approach hysteria.

The Man let go of his wrist, but only to belt him across the face with the back of one hand. Blood trickled from the Doctor's nose. The Man stopped suddenly, surprised. The Doctor stared at him in horror.

“Gentle,” the Doctor repeated bitterly.

“I'm sorry.”

“And you ask why I resist you,” the Doctor got out, still bitter. “You ask me why you deserve rejection. Well now you see. Simple, fundamental human brutality. This is why. You cannot control yourselves - you don't understand the instinct to kill, to wound. You're primitive. Beings of impulse, not reason, as you may claim. This is why I will not surrender. Because you cannot begin to understand me.” The Doctor paused a short while as he narrowed his eyes at glared at the Man, who was fuming and smoking yet another foul cigarette. “I'm too advanced for you.”

The Man suddenly grabbed him by the lapels and lifted him off the floor, surrendering to the primal instinct to shut the smug little shit up. He looked as if he was about to start shaking him. The Doctor's eyes went wide with primal, primitive fear.

Almost out of instinct the Doctor deepened his voice as yelled as loudly as he could, “Put me down!”

The Man dropped him. He landed on his bottom, legs sprawling out in front of him. The Man looked down coldly at the Doctor, whose breath was growling in his throat.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to chapter 11: this chapter is all my, kapakoscheisigma’s, work. The script version came to me two thirds done and in previous chapters there were odd scenes that said fill in scene with such and such here, but from chapter 10 we have huge bits that say add scenes here or fill in plot details there. This is what I have endeavoured to do with this chapter. I hope I have actually been able to explain the plot a little here and it isn’t too far from what the original two authors had in mind. I reiterate here that I am prosing their script with their full and kind permission.
> 
> Much of the previous two chapter’s scenes with Ace and the Counsellor and Tegan and Benny are also my original work.

Tegan drove towards downtown Albany, Bernice looking out for a likely hotel or motel. Eventually she pointed out an advertising sign and Tegan turned the car off the main street and followed the signs. It was a generic, cheap but clean motel, the kind Ace used to see on US TV shows and movies when she had been growing up in Perivale in the nineteen eighties. The Counsellor appeared to have fallen asleep, her head on her shoulder, but as they pulled up to the reception building she realized her eyes were open and she was staring, without seeing, into the space in front of her.

“Okay? Okay Counsellor?” Ace stroked her hair before pushing her off her. “I’ll get us a room or two.”

“How are you going to pay?” Bernice demanded.

Ace pulled a card from her jacket pocket. “Got this, haven’t I?”

As soon as Ace had left the car Tegan turned round. “All right Counsellor? What happened to you?”

“To be honest, I’m don’t really know. I’ve been drugged and unconscious most of the time. Where’s the Doctor? I don’t think that Ace is with him, is he, but a much older version? Did he get my message? Is that why you’re here?”

“I’m not really sure. Was it some kind of mind message you Time Lords do? We arrived in Chicago but I don’t think he wanted to. He seemed panicked and then Turlough went missing and he ran out of the TARDIS and that was a day ago. I thought I saw him at the place they had you but then it wasn’t him. This guy looked sick and was bald.”

“H’m. Oh. Turlough.” The Counsellor said flatly before she wrinkled her nose.

 

* * *

Meanwhile Turlough had also arrived in Albany. The first thing he had done was to buy a map and the question a local cab driver. He soon realized that the building the Doctor wanted him to retrieve the cryogenically suspended foetus from was not a public or business building and, in fact, considered derelict. It was also, he had worked out from the muddle of conspiracies and agencies half trusting and half using each other back in Washington, going to be very well guarded, possibly by the American army or more likely a private force. Or both. He didn’t need to arrive in a taxi. That would arouse suspicion. Instead he booked into a motel nearby and phoned Scully who gave him Mulder’s number of his ‘cell phone’ as she called his primitive pocket communicator. She also informed him that she too was on route to Albany. The Doctor – the other Doctor, that was, the short man with the manipulative, dark streak that Turlough could get to respect – had been abducted from her flat and she had reasoned that all factors seemed to point to this building that she and Mulder had been aware of in a prior investigation.

 

* * *

 

General Gilmore, detached aide and British link officer with the US UNIT inspired Consortium was on the phone to his direct commanding officer, that was a civilian from C19 and the only one who knew how deep he was in the unofficial, unsanctioned research into alien biology. UNIT structure was so strict sometimes governments had to by-pass international law and treaty to get decent defence technology. C19 had found it equally necessary to work with Torchwood from time to time similarly. The old vanguard such as Lethbridge Stewart really did not approve but they were not seeing the bigger picture. Besides, considering the way the old brigadier had exploited his friendship with his pet alien in the seventies and eighties it made him a tad hypocritical, to say the least.

Gilmore – his name unknown by Deep Throat, the Lone Gunmen or Mulder and known by them as simply as the Well-Manicured Man – spoke quickly and quietly to Sir John Sudbury.

“The harvest of ova was successful and goes against previous information from the male Time Lord subjects held in 1957, 1979 and 1981. The research team have been provided with the sample from a male so experimentation of the genetic structure of the regeneration ability through test tube Time Lord stem cells can begin. I have been able to guarantee all research will be shared with the Torchwood team but there is a price.”

Gilmore paused, listening.

“Her TARDIS.

“Oh. That is excellent. May I ask who has already spoken to you sir?

“Fine. I understand.

“Yes. Purity continues.

“No. Not yet. I have not yet found a way.

“Thank you sir.”

Gilmore hung up and rubbed his eyes. Sometimes he was so deep under cover he forgot whose side he was on. But although the British government wanted medical, technological and military advances from any alien scum found, deals and rendering were not quite cricket, nor were the secret surrenders and eugenics of the kind the Consortium seemed to be playing. Super-soldiers were one thing, wiping of the ‘impure’ was not. But to get the information and technology for the one, seemed to mean playing the American military, the international business Consortium and the breakaway Tzun in one giant game of bluff and double bluff and even triple bluff. No wonder he had had such an on going fight with bone cancer – the stress must have made him sick. But one thing was for sure, he’d be dead, not almost a foot shorter but alive, if it hadn’t been for the Tzun’s medical intervention.  
* * *

 

“Right, I’m off,” Ace said, after cleaning and checking five difference IMC blasters, stunners and pistols along with her beloved boot knife.

“Oh right. Alone. Like some action hero. You don’t think you need back up?” Bernice demanded angrily. She pulled out her out knife and tried to pin Ace to the wall with it, just to make a point. Ace soon overpowered and disarmed her.

They had taken three rooms, one for the Counsellor, one for Ace and one for Tegan and Bernice. They were in Tegan and Benny’s room.

“Girls. Stop your fighting. However ace you are Ace – and I can see you’re terrific at the whole fighting thing, there is a whole private army in there.” Tegan pushed herself between Ace and her temporary girlfriend.

Ace and Benny stood panting, glaring at one another, like little girls pulled apart after a cat fight in the playground. 

“Just tell me what you’re doing!” Bernice yelled.

“Benny, stop it. If the Doctor has got Ace to do something we trust the Doctor, right? Mine can be a right irritating sod too, but we both know he’d good, he’s clever and he is always right. Maybe it’s dangerous for you to know.”

“I don’t really know, anyway, just I have to get this thing. It’s dangerous for humans to have this thing, and they will change history by having it. Okay Benny? All right with that then?”

Benny sighed and shrugged. “Maybe. But why does he trust you so much. You treat him like shit.”

“Maybe that is why he does,” Tegan said darkly. “Look, we need to work together on this, okay? Benny is right Ace, you need back-up. Even is we stay outside, you can’t go back alone. You’ve already rescued the Counsellor, they are going to be on red alert or whatever they call it. They are armed and there’s a lot of them. Rabbits!”

“What?” Ace had been listening, her back to the door, taking in what Tegan was saying and was a bit thrown by the introduction of random wildlife.

Bernice however looked to the door, which Tegan was facing. “Cruk!”

The Counsellor was leaning on the doorframe. She came in and closed the door. She looked very pale and wan.

“You need to work together. You have more than one thing to do.”

“What is it? You okay?” Tegan came and took the Counsellor’s arm and helped her to a chair.

“I’ve been trying to reach the Doctor – your Doctor, Tegan, the younger one – but his mind is a blank of terror and confusion but I feel he is back there in that building you rescued me from Ace.” She looked up to Ace. Ace nodded. “I can guess what you must retrieve Ace but you must try to get my DNA too, else what you destroy will be in vain as the next one might be a fully constructed one.” Ace nodded again. “I can sense your Doctor too. He is battling something. He is angry – and yes, afraid under it all. His mind is so powerful now. Like Papa’s. Dark and furious.”

“You said it,” Ace said. “Whoever your Dad is.”

“Don’t you know...” Tegan began. The Counsellor reached out and squeezed her hand, shaking her head sadly.

“You can’t do it all – even the three of you,” she said.

“I have more pawns soon to be on the chessboard,” Ace said, grinning.

“Now I know you’re turning into him,” Bernice quipped. “Who?”

“Mulder. I’ve got him tapped. The Doctor asked him to do something too, and of course, desperate for the Truth, he couldn’t resist. He’s meeting someone here soon, someone else the Doctor – my Doctor! – has sent.”

“Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you Ace,” Benny sighed with something that she wouldn’t admit to – awe and respect.

 

* * *

 

Once Tegan, whom the Counsellor had met and quite liked back in Oxford, both in 1947 and 1994, had left with the older Doctor’s fighting women the Counsellor dragged herself back to her own room and curled up in the bed, rocking. She really was in the most horrendous discomfort she had ever experienced. 

Well, when she had simultaneously been shot in the back with human rifles and the front by a Sontaran disrupter had possibly been worst, but that had been only momentarily and then she had died. Took a hell of a long time to regenerate too. In exile one obviously used up one’s regenerations faster than at home. She felt homesick. But then she frequently did when times were hard, for nearly a 120 years now.

Home reminded her of what Ace had implied she was to collect and to what had been taken from her. Sooner or later they would return, the human companions, perhaps one incarnation of the Doctor, perhaps two, and the experiments – the evidence – needed to be returned to the CIA. She knew her duty even if neither of the versions of the Doctor did. She knew what she must do.

But first she was allowed to be weak, to seek comfort. Time Lords might like to pretend they are above emotions and connections and feelings, but they were not. They were as frail and as vulnerable and as alone as any other sentient being in the cosmos.

She picked up the phone and asked the receptionist to put a call through to England, to London. 

Of course, Sarah Jane Smith was not at home. Her mobile was even switched off. But thanks to a system K-9 had set up some years before the call was rerouted from the London flat to the mobile where, nervously, the Counsellor left a message with the motel and room number.

Then it hit her. What if they had Sarah? She had just given her location away. She really didn’t do this kind of thing. Sarah would despair of her. She rather suspected her rescuer Ace would too.

Three minutes later the motel room phone rang. With some trepidation she answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Counsellor? Where the hell are you? What are you doing in the States? Your PA said you just went out for a walk. Did you know people – rogue UNIT possibly, or Torchwood? – are tracking both myself and the Brigadier? Are you okay?”

“I was abducted. Some might say rendered. I don’t really want to think about what they did to me. They call themselves the Consortium and make Torchwood look like a kindly charity organization. I’m fine now. It’s so good to hear your voice Sarah.”

“Oh Counsellor. I’ve been doing my nut.”

“Are you safe?”

“I hope. How did you escape?”

“I was rescued by a very feisty, determined young lady who travels with the Doctor. She’s gone back for him. Both of him.”

“What?!”

 

* * *

 

As they had organized on the phone, Mulder and Turlough met at an out of the way parking lot by a road junction roughly a mile from the building that currently contained that which they needed to liberate.

They shook hands tersely, Mulder apologizing for his previous behaviour towards Turlough and his Doctor back in the Chicago hospital some 48 hours ago now. Turlough forgave him magnanimously and asked him if he had a clue to what the Doctor had asked of him.

Mulder had immediately launched into a whole long back story of his search for the Truth, from his sister’s disappearance to Scully’s abduction the previous year, to his and the Lone Gunmen’s uncovering government conspiracies a-plenty involving at least two types of aliens and human DNA experimentation...

Turlough held up a hand, “And breathe. I don’t really need to know all that Mulder. Or care, frankly. Please.” Turlough rubbed his hands together and looked pityingly at Mulder. He spread his hands and continued, “We are here to collect one of these alien/human DNA experiments for the Doctor. He hasn’t said as much but I suspect it contains his DNA, or at least another Time Lord’s. And no, there is nothing more for you to know,” he added pompously to Mulder’s eager look. “Now, switch off your cell phone and let’s go. We’ll take your car, but I’m driving.”

“Why?”

“Because I know where we are going.” Turlough raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

Mulder got into the passenger seat without another word. However, once on the road he did ask,

“Are you really an alien?”

“Of course I’m not bloody human,” Turlough snapped angrily. “Did you gather nothing from the debacle at that damned hospital? Now. Can we focus please?” He wondered at how easy it was for him to assume a command position in a quasi-military operation so easily. It did not sit well with his view of himself as a self-serving, selfish coward. Turlough hated what the war at home had done to him, but he was beginning to both hate and admire this other, noble Turlough the Doctor could bring out.

Rassilon primature and regenerative capacities in human cloned super-soldiers?! Unthinkable. Worst than Daleks and Cybermen combined. At least they were single-minded and unitary.

 

* * *

 

Behind the parking lot, hidden by trees and the lack of lighting, it was now growing darker by the second, Ace, Bernice and Tegan piled out of the hire car. Ace checked her armaments again. Bernice checked for her boot knife. Tegan settled for straightening her shoulders and taking a deep breath while wondering what kind of Doctor this future incarnation was like, one who travelling with such strong, capable, militarily trained women?


	13. Chapter 13

The Doctor was staring out of the window, down at a three hundred-foot drop. His face was dark and creased with frown-lines, set into an angry, sullen scowl. The Man had been yelling at him for some time - defending his own actions, the Consortium, the human race. The Doctor was barely listening.

“You will not resist me! I will not be denied by you!”

The Doctor span around, suddenly livid, fixing those stormy eyes on the nameless Man. There was a purple bruise just coming up on his cheek and blood had crusted on his upper lip.

“Deny? Deny?” His voice was hoarse. “You hit me and you throw me to the floor and you expect me to - to –” He stopped before his voice could break. “You are wrong!”

“Can you be sure?” the man replied smoothly.

“Of what?”

“Of my mistake.” He smiled, very slowly. “After all, you've been wrong before this, surely? You may be a Time Lord, but you're not infallible. Are you?”

“I'm sick of mind games!”

“Even Time Lords have instincts, Doctor. Buried deep, perhaps. But you're not immune to... nature.”

“Leave me alone!”

“So you can escape? Or plan to kill me? I don't think so, Doctor. You're staying here until I've got what I want. Understand? This floor is abandoned. As are the three below us. No one is going to hear you if you scream.”

“You won't get away with this.”

“What makes you think that?”

The Doctor fell silent. He turned back to the window, looking down, and saw a small, female figure far away against the tree line, dressed all in black, leaning on a white van. Then two other women emerged from behind it and started to discreetly make their way towards the building. The first figure sat down on to the van, fiddling with an earpiece.

The Doctor started to bang on the window loudly, almost in a panic,” Ace! Ace! Ace! Aaaaaaaaace!”

But she was over six hundred feet away.

The Man grabbed the Doctor from behind. He struggled, and kept yelling, pointlessly. He pulled the Doctor around to face him, and raised one hand to slap him, but before the hand reached his face it had become a fist. The Man punched the Doctor full in the face four times before he fell to the floor. There were tears streaming across his face, and a patch of skin under one eye had broken, but the Doctor continued to stare in horror, not reacting to the onslaught. Perturbed and disturbed by the Doctor - and his own reactions – and angry at his perceived reaction – the Man threw himself on top of the Doctor. His silent crying finally became cries for help, and then, as the attack grew more frenzied they became pleas for mercy, but by then man known as the cigarette smoking man or ‘John’ wasn't listening, something primal had taken over. He lay violently into the struggling and screaming Doctor.

The Man's Scotch glass was thrown at the wall. It shattered.

* * *

After their furtive journey around the edge of the wooded area and parking lot the women stopped in front of the Institute and Ace turned around to Bernice and Tegan, who were both hanging the back in the shadows, surreptitiously holding hands. She handed them each an earpiece. She had decided it was best they both think they were going to there to rescue Tegan’s Doctor – in reality they were to create a diversion if caught to distract from her search for her Doctor – she knew she could trust Turlough if not Mulder to recover the merchandise.

“Right. You've got one hour. Take six floors each and do it methodically - one end to the other. Fast. We haven't got any time to waste. Okay?” Ace told the other two women.

“What if we find him?” demanded Bernice, worried.

“Then let us know and get the cruk out of there!”

“What if we don't find him?” demanded Tegan, equally concerned.

“Simple,” Ace replied. “Don't go over your hour. Remember they're sterilizing the building - we don't know when, but we know it's happening. And you do not want to be there when it happens. Got it?”

“Got it.” Tegan answered.

“Good.” Ace got out of the car. Tegan and Bernice followed in silence, with a glance to each other. “Now go. Benny, you take the top, Tegan the bottom. Get on with it.”

They go. Ace sighed and sat on the bonnet of a white van parked near the door but sheltered from the view of the building entrances, fixing her earpiece into her ear.

* * *

Meanwhile Scully was driving towards the Institute - which, as usual in these strange circumstances she found herself too often involved in thanks to Mulder and his obsessive searching, was not on any USGS State map - with her cell phone pressed to one ear. It was ringing. She was tapping the other hand impatiently on the steering wheel. She listened with increasing despair as she heard yet again, 

“Hi, this is Mulder, I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message.”

She sighed, turned the mobile off and threw it onto the passenger seat. A few moments later she turned into the Institute, but on the other side of the building to the safe tree cover where Ace had parked. She put her phone into her purse and drew her gun and ran into the building.

* * *

Turlough stood in a dark lab, Mulder’s torch light the only illumination of him and what he held. “I think this is it,” he said tersely.

He was holding a freeze-dried alien foetus in a canister. It had the number 12B4 on the top. He and Mulder were in a little room full of vats of liquid nitrogen, and this had come from one of them. Mulder was staring at the thing in awe.

“You could be right,” he agreed.

He reached out to touch it, but Turlough (who was holding it with heavy-duty gloves) snatched it away quickly.

“Do you want your hands to freeze until they snap off and shatter on the floor?”

“Okay,” Mulder pulled his hand away as he answered numbly.

Turlough raised one eyebrow and put the foetus in a box. Mulder watched him peel the gloves off and throw them down, then weigh the box in his hands and shrug. Turlough looked at Mulder squarely.

“Shall we go?” he asked archly, indicating towards the door with a nod of his head.

* * *

Bernice opened a door on an office which contained a bar, a desk, a sofa and a pile of clothes. She went over to the bar and was halfway through pouring herself a well-deserved brandy before she noticed a) who the clothes belonged to and b) what horrid bodily substance they were covered in. She finished pouring the brandy and went over to the clothes. The Doctor's clothes. Covered in blood.

“Oh cruk. Ace?” she said into her earpiece, sounding slightly choked.

Ace’s voice came over the radio, “What?”

“You'll never guess what I've found.”

* * *

Mulder had lost sight of Turlough after an altercation with two guards. He was certain Turlough and the ‘merchandise’ had got away safely. He was now backing his way slowly down a dark corridor, gun nervously pointed towards the stairwell and elevators when he backed into someone. He span around, in a panic, gun held shakily out in front of him and saw...

“Mulder!” snapped Scully, sighing with relief, lowering her own firearm. “Why are you answering your cell?”  
* * *

 

Outside, in the now almost complete dark apart from the illumination from the occasional window of a lit room in the institute, Ace was leaning on the bonnet of the van, finishing her radio conversation with Bernice.

“Stop worrying,” she was saying firmly. “We haven't got long. You'd better keep looking for Turlough.”

Bernice was sobbing almost hysterically, “He's dead, isn't he? He's dead!”

Ace was growing more annoyed by the second and snapped, “Why would you take the clothes off a dead person? They're probably cooking him. Get on with it.”

“Can I keep them with me?”

“Oh, if you must. Out.”

She relaxed. After a few moments she heard engine noise, then many car doors slamming, and shouting. She could see reflected torchlight in the windows of other cars. Her body straightened and she barked instructions into her microphone as she slunk away from the van into the shadows of the trees,

“Get the cruk out of there! Get the cruk out of there now!”

Over the radio Bernice replied, confused, “What?”

Also over the radio Tegan demanded, “What?”

“I said get out! Garnet's here, the operation's starting, if you don't get out you'll get shot. Drop what you're doing and leg it!” Ace shouted a reply, the hurriedly looked around in case she had been heard by one of the groups of scientists and heavies in suits exiting the building and climbing into cars and vans.

Bernice, a little panicked but trying to deal with it asked slowly as she controlled her breathing, “All right, okay, how do I get out...”

“Benny, you been drinking?” Ace demanded sharply.

“No,” Bernice slurred defensively.

“Good. Get out of there. Tegan, get rid of those heels and head for the nearest stairs. I’ll bring the car down if I can.” What was once more car in this exodus, Ace reasoned. “Got it?”

“No,” Tegan replied.

“What?” Ace asked, incredulously – what was there not to understand? She hadn’t known Tegan long and her immense capacity for questions and her overwhelming inability to do as she was told was new to her.

“We haven't found Turlough. I'm not leaving without Turlough. I'm going to find him.”

“Don't be bloody stupid. If Turlough's still in there he's probably already dead... or he's tied up in a little room like the Counsellor was. Forget him, Tegan. He's not worth it.”

“Bugger off!”

Tegan was in a corridor in the Institute. She yanked the earpiece out of her ear and crushed it underneath her heel, then walked away.

Ace was now briskly heading for the car, ignored by those institute staff driving or walking past her, one finger pressed into her ear.

“Tegan? Tegan! Answer me, you bitch!”

There was, of course, no answer. She sighed deeply. There was nothing else she could do. For a while she just stared at the ground, frowning, as she walked, not really feeling like guiding Bernice out of the building or trying to talk Tegan round. Bernice was right - something awful had obviously happened to the Doctor in that institute, and she hadn’t been there to protect him, because the bastard wouldn't let her be. She reached the hire car without really noticing, as she was so lost in her own anger when she heard a vaguely familiar voice.

“Ahem.”

She looked up. Turlough was no longer wearing the too-big clothes Mulder lent him and the fifth Doctor's cricket jumper but instead a nicely tailored black suit, white shirt and striped tie. But more importantly he was holding a wooden box in both hands. They greeted each other with a look of mutual understanding and relief. Turlough raised one eyebrow at her, as if to ask a question.

Ace nodded to the box, “What's that?”

“Oh, just evidence,” he replied cryptically, knowing she would understand. “What are you doing here?”

Ace made a face. “Tying up loose ends, what else? How about you?”

He shrugged and put the box next to Ace, then took a seat next to it on the hire car’s bonnet.

“You're Turlough, right?”

Turlough slapped his hands together and gave her a deeply sardonic look. They had, of course, already met and he knew she knew just as he knew she knew what was in the box. “Well, who do you think I am? Of course I'm Turlough! Who else would I be?”

“Right.” Ace put her hand back up to her ear. “Tegan, Turlough's out. You can leave now.” She paused, listening to nothing but hiss and static. “Listen, Tegan, if you can hear me, get out of the building. Turlough is alive.”

Turlough raised one eyebrow.

“Tegan I hope you bloody are listening because I am not gonna bother saving your crukking life. Get out now. Turlough's okay, he's here and he's got some stupid box with him, just get out okay? Tegan, come on you cow, just say something!”

“What's Tegan done now?”

“Oh, she said she wouldn't come out because you were still in there, and now you're out here she isn't answering the radio. I think she's thrown it away.”

“Typical.”

“Typical? What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, she's always acting like an idiot in life-threatening situations. I'm beginning to think it's a calling of hers. Try everything you can to get yourself killed horribly on an alien planet far in your own future. She never manages it, though. She always gets out alive somehow.”

“So far.”

“Does it matter much if Agent Mulder gets killed?”

Ace replied off-handed, not really thinking about why Turlough asked the question, “Yeah, he's really important to the - Oh, shit!”

* * *

Mulder and Scully ran towards a small door at the end of a corridor, then they came to a panting halt. The situation was urgent - there were orderlies, guards, heavies and soldiers everywhere and they had to hide immediately but they knew they had to enter with caution. They were afraid they could be walking into even worse danger. A look passed between them. Scully waited by the door, gun raised. Mulder opened the door. Scully moved inside, holding the gun in front of her. It was a standard laundry room - there were sheets and blankets in piles all over the place, and a big heavy-duty washer-dryer in one corner. Scully took in the surroundings. Then she stopped, in shock. Mulder stood behind her, staring. There was a small, huddled, naked shape on the floor. Scully could make out a pair of legs slick with blood. A bruised arm. She dropped the gun and took two steps forward.

“Oh my God,” Scully let out softly.

Mulder moved to stand behind her, but she waved him away and squatted on the floor. Then she reached out for the shape and turned it over. The person's eyes were wide open, but not focusing on anything. The only obvious movement was his battered chest as he breathed. One half of his face was covered in blood. Then Scully realized who it was she had in her arms.

It was the Doctor. The second one she had met, the first one they had followed. The one from the gallery in Chicago, the one Ray and his Mountie rescued from the gym in Washington and brought to her apartment. Who had been abducted from her apartment.

Mulder took a very deep breath and turned away, covering his mouth with one hand in horror. Then he staggered out of the room. Scully barely noticed. She was speaking very softly,

“Doctor?” He made no sign that he heard her. “Doctor, can you hear me?” There was still no movement “Doctor?” She paused, worried. “Doctor?”

His eyelids suddenly fluttered and he seemed to see her. One of his arms made a vague movement. She reached out for it.

“It's okay. Don't try to move, it's okay. You're safe now.” She moved to stand and get him a blanket, but he grabbed her arm.

“Don't –”

His voice was incredibly hoarse. Scully found her eyes flicking to his throat and registering telltale bruising there. Someone had tried to strangle him.

“Okay.” She raised her voice slightly, “Mulder, will you get me a blanket please?”

Mulder complied, then hovered nervously. Scully carefully wrapped the Doctor in the blanket. She leant over him again, whispering,

“Doctor? Can you tell me what happened to you?” She was now cradling him in her arms. “Have you been raped?”

Mulder hurried away again, shocked and unable to deal with such a horror.. Scully stroked the Doctor's shoulder through the blanket but he didn't make another sound.

“We've got to get him out of here,” Scully told Mulder, shocked and horrified herself.

* * *

Tegan was wandering around a high floor, panicking a little, twisting her hands together as she walked. There was no time to get out now. Thugs in combats and suits had covered the bottom three floors and they were coming up towards her floor and her only hope was becoming to find somewhere and hide. But she couldn't think of anywhere. Turlough was either out or dead by now. She sighed heavily. Then something caught her eye, walking past an intersection between two corridors.

A lone figure, shuffling, lost and confused.

She ran after him or her. When she got into the other corridor, the figure was standing stock-still. It was obvious even from the back that the person was locked in confusion. Not sure where they were going or even why. Tegan's heart immediately reached out to them - a split second before she realized whom it was. The Doctor. Bewildered, lost and confused, but the Doctor. She breathed out, audibly. The Doctor turned around in panic.

Immediately she saw his face she sensed there was something seriously wrong, but she couldn't identify what. He looked at her in utter bewilderment. He didn’t seem to recognize him. She was reminded of how he was just after he regenerated. She hadn't been reminded of that in a long time.

“Doctor?”

“Who are you?”

Tegan waited for a second or two and then she took a deep breath, “It's me. It's Tegan. You remember?”

“N-no.” Tegan was alarmed at how pathetic he looked. “Sorry.”

Tegan gently to took his hand before replying, “Friend.”

“Oh.”

She pulled him around the corner and forced him onto the ground. He was so weak it didn't take much effort. He sat staring at her, obviously confused. Then she realized what was wrong - his hat was pressed too firmly onto his head, far too far down. She removed it.

He was entirely bald. So the man in the ambulance had been him. Tegan silently berated herself for a moment for not realizing before then pulled herself together. Hindsight was a wonderful thing, as was the concept of if, but it served no use in the here and now of what was needed. Tegan could almost hear Nyssa berating her gently in her head. She focused back on the Doctor and began to gently examine his head. There was a long, deep scar on the back of his scalp, stretching from behind one ear to the nape of his neck. It was really fresh. Tegan winced. Then she grabbed his shoulders and stared into his eyes.

“What happened to you.”

“I - I –” 

“Okay, forget it, don't try to explain. We've got to get you out of here.”

* * *

Bernice was standing just inside the doorway that lead out to where Ace was sitting, holding onto the Doctor's clothes as if her life depended on it. Behind her there were the sounds of running and shouting as what appeared to be US military filtered through the building, but she was not really taking much notice. Instead she felt paralysed by grief. The Doctor was dead. She was sure of that much. She wasn't sure she cared much about her own survival now. In her half-drunken state she was allowing herself to drop into despair: the Doctor was gone, she simply didn't trust Ace, not really, and much as she liked the 20th century she couldn't live here, not really. Much better to get shot. Far better.

With a monumental effort, she pushed the door open and stepped into the open air. For some unknown reason, as soon as she felt the rain on her face she burst into tears. Again. She headed for Ace, pressing the clothes against her chest.

When Ace saw Bernice she staggered to her feet. The older woman was crying - hard - and stumbling over her own feet as she walked out of the building. It looked as if she wasn't going to make it to the car without falling over. Whether that was the effect of booze or grief or both Ace couldn't tell and didn't much care. She could sense Turlough watching rather impassively from behind her as she stalked over to Bernice and tried to take the clothes away.

“No, no, he's dead!” Ace grabbed the pile of clothes violently. “Don't, get off me!”

“Give them to me Benny.”

“No, no!”

Ace pulled at the clothes again. Bernice had stopped making coherent words and had started to spew out syllables that didn't make any sense, in English or any other language Ace knew. In fact, Ace reasoned, if the TARDIS wasn’t translating, then Bernice was just making a hysterical noise. There were tears streaming down her face as she screamed and shook and fought to keep hold of the clothes. Ace slapped her. Bernice dissolved into sobs and her body went limp. Ace pulled the clothes away and took them over to the car to show them to Turlough. Bernice fell to the ground, crying loudly.

Ace put the box of ‘evidence’ on the floor and indicated for Turlough to stand. Then she spread the Doctor's clothes over the bonnet of the car. The trousers were ripped at the seams, the tank top was frayed, the shirt was torn in many places, and all were splattered with blood. The shirt collar, shoulders of the jacket and top of the tank top were particularly stained. The whole outfit smelt of cigarettes, there was ash spread over all the clothes and in several places on the tank top and shirt the end of a cigarette had been used to burn a hole. Ace looked at Turlough and frowned. Turlough was shivering slightly. It wasn't hard to read the horror on his face. Ace wondered how plainly it shows on hers.

“Are you thinking...” Ace began but she couldn’t bear to finish.

Turlough looked at her with eyes full of sorrow and hatred, “I hate humans,” he said bitterly.

“Yeah, me too,” Ace agreed softly. Turlough looked at her, surprised. “Bastards, most of 'em. You're lucky. You don't have to pretend you belong here.”

She was fighting tears. She thought she knew exactly what had happened to the Doctor, and who did it. She also knew what the Doctor's reaction was going to be: deny everything. Which was going to be hard if his injuries were half what his clothes suggested.

Behind them, Bernice had managed to compose herself a little, enough to stand up, somewhat shakily, and lean against the side of the car. She had stopped crying for the minute. Ace breathed out and started to gather up the clothes. When they were folded up in her arms she sat back down on the bonnet, exhausted. Turlough didn't join her again.

Turlough had heard the strange woman's hysteria, but he knew the Doctor wasn't dead. He could take a pretty educated guess at what had happened; but he didn't really care to share it with Ace, who had come to her own conclusions, or the other woman, who probably just wouldn't cope. He found himself wishing, for the first time in a while, that he could go home. He wanted to get away from Earth - to see his father again, and his brother. But he didn't know where his Doctor was and he finally allowed himself to let go of the anger and give into concern and worry. He felt incredibly trapped here, like he hadn’t in a long, long while. Not since he met the Doctor. And how, when, if, they find him, how can he face him, hide this, knowing what lays in store in the Doctor’s future...

His thoughts are interrupted by a voice he had long grown to tolerate. He had never been so relieved to hear it.

“Turlough?” Tegan said happily.

Turlough turned around, torn from his reverie, and realized that he had been silently crying. He blinked several times. Tegan was standing there, in front of Ace’s hire car, holding onto the Doctor's arm. The Doctor looked exhausted and bewildered - and there was something odd about his appearance. Turlough took all this in before he found his voice and said with profound relief,

“Tegan. Doctor.” 

He sighed. Tegan let go of the Doctor and flung her arms around Turlough.

“Thank God.”  
“Indeed,” he replied drily, pulling away from her and facing the Doctor – his Doctor! – and frowning at the lack of recognition and the state of him. “Doctor?”

The Doctor does not look up, or look at him at all.

“Doctor, are you all –”

“Mm?”

“What's the matter with him?” Turlough asked Tegan, worried, reaching out to his lover with his mind and getting a blank response. He was trying hard not now to panic.

“We've gotta get out of here. There's thugs and army everywhere.”

“I know.” Turlough turned to Ace, who had been watching the interchange with interest. “We'll take Mulder's car. It's a long way back to Chicago, you know.”

“Why're you going to Chicago?” Ace asked, curious, just for something to say.

“Well, the TARDIS isn't going to come to us, is it?”

“TARDIS?” the Doctor repeated, puzzled, as if it rang a bell in his mind but could not quite access what it was meant to mean to him.

Turlough looked at him with confusion and compassion. “Yes, the TARDIS,” he said gently. The Doctor frowned and shook his head. “You'll see.” Turlough put his arm about him.

“But - what about keys? How'll you start it?”

Turlough gave Ace a wicked and entirely fake grin and said, “I didn't spend five years in an English school for nothing, you know.”

Ace also faked a smile in return. Then Turlough nodded at her. She nodded back, reminding herself everything must be fine as how else would her Doctor have been okay until now? She watched as Tegan and Turlough lead the younger blond Doctor away, muttering between themselves, trying to force down her fear for the Doctor, for the real Doctor, not the blond shadow of the past. After they had gone, Ace turned to look at Bernice.

“He's dead, you know,” Bernice said flatly, all hysterics and tears played out.

“No he isn't.”

“He's dead. He's still in there. If he isn't dead now they'll kill him soon. He's a dead man.”

“Shut up, Professor.”

There was a long silence. Bernice stared at the building, waiting for an explosion or the start of a fire. Several gunshots rang out. Lights start to go out all around the building. Ace was studiously ignoring them, staring at the ground. She didn't look up until she heard Bernice burst into tears again.

When she finally did look up, she saw Mulder and Scully coming out of the same side door Bernice escaped from. Mulder was carrying a bundle wrapped up in a blanket. The bundle was person-shaped, with dark curly hair, and the blanket was blood-stained. Ace nearly started to cry herself.

Scully reached them first, and went immediately to Ace.

“We need to get him to a hospital. He's been –”

Ace responded flatly, “I know what happened. He can't go to hospital, he's not human, he could die there. If the Doctor needs surgery we'll have to do it ourselves.”

“You expect us to perform emergency surgery on a rape victim with no drugs and no theatre? I haven't performed an operation since medical school, and Mulder's not a trained medic. Could you do it?”

“If I had to.”

“Rape victim?” Benny screamed and this started her off crying again. “Doctor? Doctor?” She ran over to Mulder and reached for the Doctor's hand. “It's all right. I'll stay with you. I'll stay with you, Doctor.”

“With no drugs?” Scully demanded of Ace.

“Most Earth drugs would do him more harm than good,” Ace replied.

“In what kind of facilities?”

“Dunno.”

“Get out of my way. I'm taking him to hospital.”

She pushed Ace away from the car and tried to open the door. It was locked. Ace grabbed Scully, as if to fight with her. Scully struggled against the stronger woman, determined.

“Stop it, both of you!” Bernice yelled. Ace and Scully froze. Bernice was quite hysterical. “We can't take the Doctor to hospital because they won't believe us about his hearts or aspirin and they'll probably end up killing him and cutting him open. Ace is right, if he needs surgery we'll have to get him back to the TARDIS, or maybe the Counsellor can do it. Either way, we've got to get out of here before those bloody Consortium people come and kill us. That means now. How many cars have we got?”

“Where's my car?” Mulder asked, disorientated, not realizing they had come out the opposite side of the institute.  
“Turlough took it,” Ace replied swiftly.

“Two, then,” Scully said practically.

“You've got a separate one?” Bernice asked, not being able to resist a little sarcasm to lighten the mood. Now she knew the Doctor was alive, however horrendous his injuries or the horror he had suffered, where there was life there was hope. Besides she had seen him bounce back after worse than this. And the bonus, she wasn’t trapped in twentieth century America, a violent, prejudiced and extremely paranoid culture from what she had read in history and archaeology books. “You're not very environmentally friendly, are you?”

Scully gave her a cold, dismissive stare.

“All right, sorry.”

Ace took control, “Scully, you go and get your car. You and Mulder can follow me back. I'll drive Benny to the motel.”

“What motel?” Mulder demanded, wondering if it was the one Turlough had called him from.

“Like I said, we've got the Counsellor there. She's another Time Lord - Time Lady, rather. They had her here for –” Bernice began to explain but she was interrupted by the Doctor squeezing her hand,

“Ssh.”

Bernice looked at him. His eyes darted to Scully. She looked at Scully for a couple of seconds, then dropped her eyes. Scully went for her car. Mulder moved closer to Ace, who opened the driver's door, climbed in and drew the Doctor into her lap. She started to stroke his hair.

“Sorry, Ace.” His voice was hoarse. She willed him to be quiet, slipping one arm around him and shutting her eyes.

* * *

Scully leant her head against the car window. She was in the back seat sitting the other side of Ace with the Doctor's head cradled in her lap, absently stroking his hair, mind on other things. In the end they had left Ace’s hire car, torching it as a distraction to get away, having to drive through the woods. Mulder drove, that Bernie woman had seemed drunk or stoned. She and Ace had had to stabilize the Doctor, holding him tightly as they had bounced through dirt track until they hit an empty road. The Doctor was still bleeding. The blanket was getting blood soaked. If it went on much longer she would have to perform emergency surgery on him, if only to prevent a possible rectal prolapse.

On an alien. God.

She couldn't take him to a hospital, Ace and Bernice were right - that much was clear after what happened to Turlough. And there could be no blood transfusion, no hope of saving him if he had already lost too much blood. She had no idea how long he was lying in that laundry room bleeding, if it was an hour or five hours; whether or not his shivering and his near-catatonia were due to physical shock. If he died, he died. She had no idea what she would do with an alien body. Bury it? Cremate it?

There seemed no way out. Scully pulled the blanket closer around the Doctor, trying at all costs to keep him warm.

The Doctor looked up at her and said flatly, “I'm not going to die.”

“Of course you aren't,” Scully soothed. She was shocked by his reply as he said mildly, 

“Might wish it.”

Scully didn’t reply. She couldn’t. There was not really an answer to that, was there?

* * *

Bernice followed Mulder into the Counsellor’s motel room and watched him put the Doctor down on the unoccupied single bed. Then he walked to the other side of the room, sat down and shut his eyes without even asking who the woman was. He had driven for nearly a day before meeting Turlough and all that had followed. And before that he had witnessed an attempt on the Doctor’s life in full view of an airport and the killing of an innocent teenaged boy. To describe him as exhausted would be to put it mildly.

The Counsellor had stopped what she was doing and was staring at the Doctor and his bloody blanket. She was trapped between several emotional responses, not-quite-numb, trying to decide what it was she was feeling. Scully walked over to the Doctor and handed him the box she had been carrying for Mulder, the one Turlough had put in the trunk before he had left. The Doctor managed to dredge up a beam from somewhere when he saw it.

“I've seen this before!” he said.

He looked to the end of the Counsellor's bed. So did Bernice. So did everyone else in the room. There was a collective mouth-dropping action as the Doctor lobbed the box into a swirling opening onto the space-time vortex. Then he sagged back onto the bed. He was obviously in a hell of a lot of pain.

“Where does that lead?” he asked his daughter, his embarrassment he liked to pretend didn’t exist, not like the other two, so safe, boring and quiet on Gallifrey. This one exiled for his crimes. This one, the last, damaged by his relationship with Koschei. The loom child to safe the relationship with a mad man. Doomed from conception. His guilt, his burden...

Bernice didn’t, of course, understand the following dialogue. She wished to the goddess she did - but then she so rarely, if ever, got to hear Gallifreyan unadulterated. It felt like quite an honour. She did, however, understand when the Counsellor climbed out of bed, went over to the Doctor and wrapped herself around him. She had been wanting to do that herself for the last half-hour, but hadn't had the courage.

Ace put a hand on Bernice's shoulder and she relaxed against the younger woman. They were both exhausted. When they fell into a hug - like sisters - it seemed almost natural.

“You all right?” she asked Ace.

Ace replied, more than a little bitterly, “He should've let me watch his back.”


	14. Chapter 14

The cigarette smoking man sits in a car, watching as Mulder carries the Doctor into the motel room. The entourage follows, including Scully and the woman the agent knows to be Ace. He frowns. He pulls the key out of the ignition.

Then he lights a cigarette.

And sits.

And watches, waiting...

**Author's Note:**

> This is based entirely upon a fanscript written in the nineties by randomling and her friend, who is on here but does not wish to be credited. I am prosing their script with their full consent.


End file.
